


The Ultimate Gainer

by justanotherworthlessweirdo



Category: Original Work
Genre: Belly Kink, Complete, F/F, Feeding Kink, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29924100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherworthlessweirdo/pseuds/justanotherworthlessweirdo
Summary: The story of a Texas oil heiress with a very unusual dream, who's ridiculously determined to make it a reality.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**The Architect**

It was an unusual design, Gary thought. Certainly, he’d been presented with loads of bizarre blueprints in the thirty years since he co-founded DGM Construction, Los Angeles had its fair share of freaks with more money than sense after all, but this design… this was odd. Not totally gaga, like the vast majority of requests the company got from Beverly Hills types - Gary still shuddered thinking about brachiosaurus-shaped home he was hired to build in Burbank. Still, definitely not normal either, a far cry from most properties on the market. It was weird, but not too weird, and that was what was so weird about it. It was strange, yes, but only slightly so, as if its strangeness served a purpose.

Gary couldn’t imagine what that purpose might be. Why so many bathrooms? Why did the doorways have to be so awkwardly wide? Why did it need a pantry the size of a bedroom? What confused Gary the most, however, was his client’s insistence that there could be no stairs whatsoever, none under any circumstances. Single-floor properties had stayed fashionable since the eighties, but no stairs? Really?

“What if we raised the hallway above-ground slightly, and had a few tasteful little steps leading up to it from the front door?”

“No.” The client crossed her arms stubbornly.

“It’d impress your guests a lot,” Gary continued, “it’s very fashionable, says a lot about you that you can afford to raise the floor so-”

“I said no.” She was getting cross. Still, the sell had to go on…

“What about a below-ground space? Excavate some of the cliff, give you a gorgeous indoor balcony and a better view of the seafront-”

“But that would require stairs,” she said bluntly, “an’ I don’t want any stairs.”

Gary didn’t get it. Who said no to a few tasteful little steps? If she was a cripple, he could understand, but that broad walked on two legs just fine (and what legs they were, he thought). Maybe it was a millennial thing? Pandering to folks she’d never have round anyway? That had to be it. Typical cushy millennial liberalism. It was a shame, really. The world was truly in dire straits if even the Southern belles had gone soft and socialist. If she weren’t so damned political that girl would make a great wife for some lucky guy. Maybe even for Gary: the way his wife was looking these days, he figured he’d be searching for his fourth soon enough.

But for now, the girl was a client, and nothing more. A client, he thought, whose cash compensated for her lack of common sense. As long as she kept signing the cheques, and leaning over to do it, Gary was happy to do whatever the young lady asked.

**The Scientist**

“The thing is, Miss…”

“Call me Jackie,” the stranger replied, in a strong Southern drawl.

“Okay Jackie,” Emma said, “the thing is, I can’t help but feel I’m overqualified,”

“Well, I wanted the best.”

“I guess I’m flattered,” Emma replied. Flattered, yes, but no less confused. “But you realise I’m not actually a nutritionist?”

“I know that,” Jackie said, nodding.

“I research the distribution of health conditions, I’m just an epidemiologist.”

“With BSC in Biology from Durham and a PHD in Public Health from Cambridge. You also did a work placement at GSK for a year.”

Well. That wasn’t creepy at all. Emma wasn’t quite sure how to respond: should she just leave the room right now? But then, this woman was offering quite a sizable salary for a part-time job… Eventually, Emma settled on a response.

“You’ve done your research,” she said.

“I wanted the best.”

“I don’t think I am the best,” Emma spluttered before she had time to think better of it. As soon as she’d said it she was reprimanding herself in her head. _Remember the money on offer!_

“I don’t follow.”

 _Oh well,_ Emma thought, _might as well keep digging now I’ve started…_

“You want a nutritionist,” she explained, “somebody practical. I just do lab work, computer models, that kind of thing.”

“But you’re at the top of your field.”

“Well,” Emma blushed, “I can’t deny that.”

“Professional nutritionists can be… stuffy,” said Jackie, “they want you to do things their way, ‘cause what most folks do. Me, I don’t want none o’ that. I want to do whatever I damn well want, popular opinion be damned, an’ I want somebody who’ll give me a diet that caters to my needs: no ifs, no buts.”

Now Emma was even more confused.

“If you want this job,” Jackie continued, “you gotta be honest with me. I’ll tell you what I want an’ you gotta use that big brain of yours to come up with the best way to do it. I don’t understand any of this science myself, so I gotta be able to trust that the diet you put me on does what I want as well as any diet can. I gotta trust that you won’t try and fool with me. I gotta trust that you won’t presume to know what’s best for me. Can I trust you, sugar?”

With a salary like that, Emma didn’t plan on “fooling” with her new boss any time soon.

**The Athlete**

“You do realise I’m not a personal trainer?”

Jackie sighed. From the sheer amount of boredom visible on her face Lana imagined she might have received several similar responses that same day.

“I don’t want a personal trainer. I want you.”

“I mean, sure, I work out a lot-”

“Honey…”

“And I’m pretty fit, or I think I’m pretty fit-”

“Darlin’-”

“But trust me, I am no personal trainer, not one bit, I just work out to undo the damage I do-”

“Lana, honey, you’re not following.”

“I’m not?” Lana cringed. “Shit, I’ve been blabbering again, I do that when I’m nervous-”

“Shush now,” Jackie said, softly. What a soothing voice she had: husky, yet somehow so delicate, and that accent! Lana would give anything for a voice as beautiful as that, let alone for a body as beautiful as that. She seemed to have stepped out of a fifties glamour-mag, all golden blonde hair and hourglass curves, big-breasted and tight-waisted. Effortlessly attractive, effortlessly elegant.

“So,” the woman continued, “forgive me if I’m stating the obvious darlin’…”

Fuck. Of course it couldn’t last. She was from Texas. And loaded. Lana should’ve expected this kind of treatment, she realised, but even so she wasn’t going to say no to this job, whatever it was; as much as she wished she could on principle she just couldn’t, not with _that_ much on offer…

“But there ain’t a lot of folk who can do what you do.”

“What I do?” That wasn’t what Lana expected at all. But, then again, she wasn’t complaining. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted a personal trainer?”

“I wanna do what you do. I want you to train me.”

“Train you?” Train this girl? “I don’t know if you’d be any good-”

“I intend to be. That’s why I’m hiring the best.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m the best,” Lana replied, blushing. “A lot of people say I shouldn’t be allowed to compete, and I suppose I see the logic, but you don’t wanna-”

“You’re as much a woman as I am, darlin’,” Jackie interrupted. “The best there is.”

That settled it.

“When will I be starting?”

**The Mastermind**

Geeta had expected somewhere a little classier for the job interview. An office, presumably, or if Geeta was particularly unlucky, one of those massive pristine-white boardrooms with the grey chairs, so intimidating when you’re alone in there with an interviewer. If it was going to be a restaurant, then somewhere expensive, respectable.

Not KFC.

Not that there was anything wrong with KFC. It wouldn’t be her first choice for fried chicken, but then again she avoided Chick-Fil-A on principle, and her first choice was a family-owned joint way out in the sticks of South Central: cheap, but convenient, and made with tender love and care every time. Geeta would eat there every weekend if she could, though her need for a job meant she needed to take care of her figure.

_And how’s that going for you, fatass?_

Geeta started to sweat. She hadn’t worn this dress since she’d started at Edgeworth and Sons, and a lot had changed since then. Her hips had flared out, her backside had ballooned and, worst of all, her belly had once again reared its ugly head. It was almost cartoonishly flabby at this point, spilling out several inches at every conceivable angle, and the fabric of the dress clung tightly to every curve and each rotund roll. Even her belly button was barely visible through the material even when it wasn’t totally enveloped by her upper roll. This dress was bought for pretty little PA Geeta, not Greedyguts Geeta, and that much was obvious. But she couldn’t afford new clothes, so this would have to do. And besides, she assured herself, purple was supposed to be slimming. This was the best option available to her. There was nothing she could do about it.

_There is nothing I can do about it…_

Why did the interviewer have to be running late? Why couldn’t Geeta just get this over with as quickly as possible? It’s not like she’d get the job anyway, not with all her doughiness on display, not to mention her social anxiety, or her weirdo workplace habits…

“You must be Geeta!”

Fuck. Just when Geeta thought things couldn’t get any worse. Here she was, being interviewed by the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen, and she looked like a slob in a sausage-casing. This interview was doomed, it’d been doomed from the start, why did Geeta even bother showing up…

And then Geeta realised she hadn’t even said hi. Typical. Great start.

“H-h-hi,” she muttered.

“Lovely to meet you!” the woman replied, and all of a sudden geeta found herself enveloped in the strangers arms. She was a hugger. _Of course. She had to be a hugger._

“I’m Jackie, darlin’, by the way.” Geeta smiled, but inside she was scowling. What did her name matter? She was only going to turn Geeta down, find somebody better, maybe she’d already found somebody better and interviewing Geeta was just a contractual obligation, or, woe betide, an issue of quotas?

And Geeta was hyperventilating. Already.

“I think you need some food in you. An’ a couple o’ sodas.” No. No, no, no. That was the last thing Geeta needed!

Taking Geeta around the waist, Jackie led her out of the parking lot, into the building and into a seat.

“I’ll order,” she said warmly, patting Geeta on her pudgy shoulder, “you just sit back and get your bearings.”

Fucking hell, she was already so pretty, did she have to be so nice too? She only going to disappear from Geeta’s life tomorrow, and she’d spend the rest of her days searching for jobs and fruitlessly struggling to shrink down her stomach, never being happy, never accomplishing anything, and Jackie was already back and Geeta already didn’t want to see her leave.

But she would. Especially once she saw Geeta eating.

Jackie returned with a fully-loaded tray, snapping Geeta out of her catastrophising.

“W-w-which one is mine?” Geeta asked.

“Oh, I figured we could share,” Jackie replied, smiling. It was such a strange smile, all pearly whites and plump lips like your typical Hollywood smile, but it felt so much warmer than any of them, so much more sincere. Geeta knew, looking at that smile, that Jackie thought she was being kind in buying a sharing meal. It was something most interviewers didn’t do after all; Geeta could see how it might convey an unusual friendliness, but she didn’t care.

Sharing would make things worse.

With her drumsticks vanishing at such a rate, Jackie would notice Geeta’s piggishness all the quicker.

“Come on, dig in! Don’t let it get cold.”

If only Jackie knew. If only she realised Geeta was trying to keep her hands out that bucket for as long as possible, because once those hands started dipping inside, they wouldn’t stop until every last morsel was gone.

“Eat up, I’m serious!” Jackie laughed. “I won’t start the interview until you get some food in ya.”

Tentatively, Geeta starting pecking at a drumstick. Her appetite wasn’t too auspicious yet, but there was only so long she could hold the cravings at bay.

“I’m sorry,” Geeta said, swallowing.

“What for?” Jackie replied, with her mouth full.

“N-n-nothing, I guess. Nothing in p-p-particular.”

“Oh honey, you’re real nervous, aren’t ya?” Geeta nodded, trembling. That chicken smelled so good…

“I’m sorry. I really don’t wanna scare you. I wanted this to be pretty casual, nice and friendly-like, but I guess I screwed up somewhere.”

“Don’t ap-p-apologize.”

“Is there anythin’ I can do to make you feel more comfortable? Please, just say.” Jackie paused. “Am I too strong?”

“No, no, no, it’s not you, you’re wonderful…”

Shit. Why did Geeta have to say that?

“Well, I’m glad you think so,” Jackie chuckled, but Geeta didn’t hear. The pressure was too much, she was already stuffing her face. She ate like a piranha, her arms a blur as they shovelled handfuls and handfuls of chicken and fries into her mouth. It was constant: as soon as one mouthful had been swallowed, a fresh load of food had been shoved into her mouth, and then another, and another…

And then the silence reminded Geeta where she was. Somehow she now felt even shittier than before. Now, she wanted to cry.

“I stress eat,” Geeta explained, looking down at the grease stains on her dress, “I can’t control it. I-i-it’s like I can’t… do anything unless I’m eating. I can’t think straight unless I’m eating, I can’t be organised unless I’m eating, if I’m not eating the most I can do is lie down on my bed and stare at the ceiling and before I know it it’s been weeks and I still don’t have a job, and even though I’ve lost the weight as soon as I start work I’ll gain it all back because I just can’t work without eating-”

“It’s okay, darlin’. It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Geeta sniffed, “I was just p-p-panicking. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours.”

“But it is. I’m not exaggerating, I literally cannot get any work done unless I’m snacking. If I’m not eating I feel exhausted, I feel drained, I need energy to be productive so I eat. Constantly. I’ve been fired for being too fat to put on front desk, for breaking company policy on in-office eating, it’s always because I keep eating. And, like, I can slim down, and I have, but every time I get a new job I start eating again and I gain it all back and then I get fired again and…”

“You’re hired.”

“What?” Surely she hadn’t just said…

“Geeta darlin’, I’m making you a promise right now. I promise that I will not fire you for snacking in the workplace. I won’t even bitch about it. And I’ll pay for all your snacks.”

“No, I c-c-couldn’t accept…”

“No, I’ll pay for your snacks, an’ I’ll pay for you to get help with your eating problem. All included.”

Geeta was lost for words.

“I’ve been hiring for a lot of roles lately,” Jackie continued, “an’ for each of those roles I had somebody in mind, somebody I knew I wanted to hire the moment I heard about ‘em. But for my PA, well, you have no idea how my candidates I’ve been through already. All o’ them all formal-like, all suits an’ ties an’ nerves of steel, and that just ain’t what I want. I want I PA who I can get along with. I want a friend. An’ you, Geeta, I reckon you’ll do just fine. If you’re okay?”

It took Geeta a few moments to realise what she was being asked.

“Oh… Oh! Oh yes! Yes, I’ll take it!”

“Glad to hear it!” Jackie smiled.

“It’s just… you took me aback. In a good way! I’ve never had a job interview like this.”

“Figures. There’s never been a job like this.”


	2. Chapter 2

**The Father**

“You can’t do this, Jackie.”

“Why not?” Jackie pouted, crossing her arms. “It’s my money now, you already gave it to me. I can show you the statements…”

“But for this… this madness?” 

“That’s right.”Jackie smirked.

Paul Arnold Plainview II was not used to being spoken to like this.

“I gave you that money!” he growled in his gravelly southern drawl, “I gave it to you on the understanding that it’d be spent on something worthwhile, like the Southern Baptists or the Young Republicans, not this folly!”

“I know: I knew all that from the moment I took it. So I always knew this conversation would happen.” She paused. “Sorry, I guess?”

“You deceitful little…” Paul hadn’t been this angry since Enron. “You’re being selfish, young lady!” he screamed, pointing a single, accusing finger at his daughter from his armchair. “You could be making the world a better place!”

“With your conservative crap? I don’t think so.”

“You’ve used me, Jackie. Just like your mother. You took the money you wanted and scrammed.”

“No daddy,” Jackie said, more sternly. “You used me. You’ve been using me since I was born, even when I was little you were dressing me up and showing me off in pageants, and as I got older the only thing that changed was you got less scared to pinch my ass in public. I was no different to you than your Buick, only difference was you showed that hunk o’ scrap some real love. I’m tired of looking how you want me to look, dressing how you want me to dress, acting like a lady. Now I’m doing things my way.”

Paul was stunned into silence. It was all her could do to mutter in response:

“You little bitch.”

But Jackie was already on her way to the door, feeling immensely proud herself. Throughout the entire argument, not once had she stopped smiling

**The Mastermind**

Geeta couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

“You want to gain weight?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, darling,” said Jackie.

“Okay…”

“I am gonna be gaining like weight like nobody has ever gained weight before. 100% of my time and resources will be going towards making me the fattest hog that ever was. And I got a lot of resources!” Jackie patted her stomach; totally flat and hard now, but Geeta imagined that would soon change…

“And before you ask,” she continued, “yes, it is a sexual thing, and if you’ve got a problem with that you can leave. I want to become as fat and greedy as I can be so that I can be as horny as I can be. And I know it’s freaky, but frankly, I don’t care.”

Geeta wasn’t repulsed, only astounded. How could this woman be so confident? She was defying social norms so brazenly, proudly transforming herself into the porker of her dreams. Her resolve was breath-taking.

“I’m... I’m with you,” Geeta stuttered, finally.

“Thanks, sugar,” Jackie smiled. “Now, as my PA your job is to organise my daily routine. ‘Cause you gotta understand, I don’t just wanna get fat. I want to be the greatest fatty there’s ever been. I wanna gain faster than anyone’s ever gained before. I wanna be able to eat more than anyone’s ever eaten before. Every aspect of my life needs to be optimised for weight gain. I’ve already got the ideal house, and a lovely British brainiac sorting out my diet, so it remains to you to perfect my schedule.”

“Your schedule?”

“When do I eat? When do I do appetite training? When do I work out?”

“You’re working out?”

“Only to be able to carry the weight, sugar. But anyway, there’s way more to organise. You any good at event planning?”

“I worked for a bouncy-castle rental when I was sixteen?” Geeta shrugged.

“Close enough,” Jackie replied. “In six months time,” she continued, “I’m gonna hold a party, and I’m gonna invite everybody who’s anybody in LA. I’m gonna show up late to my own party, and when I arrive I’ll be wearing the cutest little dress you ever did see, custom made to show off all my luscious lard. I am gonna show those uptight pricks, and the world, that fat can be just as sexy as skinny. I’m gonna end fatphobia and make myself wet along the way. And you’re gonna get everything ready for that party. Including me. So are you ready?”

Geeta nodded. It was weird, sure, but it was admirable.

*******

_7 am. Get up. Brush teeth. Get dressed. Leggings and sweats only. No belts allowed._

_7:10. Studio work._

_8 am. Breakfast. Cannot leave table until completely stuffed._

_9am. Begin workout._

_10:00. Finish workout. Sit on sofa. Begin snacking._

_1pm. Lunch. Cannot finish until completely stuffed. Resume snacking as soon as able._

_7pm. Dinner._

_10pm. Pre-bed binge. Sleep._

That was the weekday routine Geeta had cooked up, and thus far it seemed to be working well. It was relaxed, it was fun, and most importantly it kept Jackie growing. Already in a week she was up 4 pounds, and Geeta had no doubt that that gain would only accelerate.

Of course, the plan wasn’t anywhere near as basic as it appeared on paper; Geeta just couldn’t help overcomplicating things. Take-out needed to be ordered almost every day, and restaurant tables had to be booked almost as often. And that was to say nothing of the food deliveries, of all which Geeta was in charge of. At first, that hadn’t been too difficult a responsibility, but as Jackie’s appetite had grown, the task had only become more challenging. It was made even more complicated by the necessity of coordinating Jackie’s diet with Emma, her nutritionist; Emma had some very specific directions, and Geeta didn’t want to disappoint her boss by ignoring them. Variety was important too: there needed to be tons of different snacks so that Jackie didn’t get bored, but they all needed to be equally fattening too, and they had to be distributed throughout the house so wherever Jackie was, she could be stuffing her face.

And, if she did somehow end up too far from the nearest snack bowl, too far being three feet or so, Geeta would be needed to bring Jackie some food. Aside from organising her schedule, Geeta was also effectively Jackie’s manservant: doing the chores, washing the dishes, bringing her food. Geeta couldn’t complain though, not when the pay was so good, and not when it meant she could participate in the greatest part of Jackie’s day everyday: studio work.

Jackie only allowed herself to enter the studio when wearing a special red bikini. She had countless such bikinis, identical in all but size, and as soon as Jackie outgrew one she’d move onto the next. Once in the bikini, and inside the studio, Geeta needed to take all of Jackie’s measurements. Belly, bust, hips, but, each thigh, each arm: Jackie liked Geeta to be thorough. Next came the weigh-in, which was always a joy to witness; even an extra ounce would make Jackie squeal in delight, and Geeta couldn’t help but feel happy too. Finally, the photoshoot. Jackie would stand at a designated spot, completely upright and expressionless, and Geeta needed to take pictures of her from certain angles: front on, side on, and close ups of the face, belly, butt and boobs. Sometimes, Jackie liked to have a few more photos taken in more provocative poses, if she was feeling “naughty” as she put it, and Geeta, as ever awed by her confidence, was always happy to oblige her. All these measurements, weights, and photos would then be added to a digital archive of Jackie’s gain, so that she could eventually look back on her progress day by day. The thought of it all made Jackie so excited, and when Jackie got excited, it was all Geeta could do not to be swept along with her.

**The Athlete**

So: that was the weekday routine. Weekends differed slightly. On Saturdays and Sundays, Jackie would fit in “training sessions” with Lana.

Lana, the world’s foremost female competitive eater.

Jackie, after all, didn’t just intend to get as fat as she could, but also to be, in her words “the ultimate gainer”, and that meant having the ultimate appetite. And who better to teach it that than arguably the greatest competitive eater there’s ever been? Unfortunately, Lana had been somewhat disappointed when she learned why Jackie wanted to improve her appetite, considering the lengths she’d gone to avoid getting fat herself. Visceral fat, after all, actually reduces stomach capacity, and so most competitive eaters, contrary to stereotypes, work ridiculously hard to stay in shape. Was this all some elaborate prank, Lana wondered? Or did this girl genuinely not realise she was making a mockery of the sport, making a mockery of her, of everything she represented…

“This is what I need, sugar. This is how I get the body I deserve.”

And Lana couldn’t argue with that.

So, Jackie gained, and gained, and gained. And, she thought, with such wonderful women on her side, the pounds would only keep piling on.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Mastermind**

“You realise I’ve gained 40lbs in a month?”

“I know.” Geeta replied. Jackie had said so three times in the last minute after all, but Geeta didn’t care. Jackie was proud, she was excited, ecstatic, and somehow just being in the same room as her made Geeta feel all those same emotions too. Her joy was contagious.

“I already feel like a new woman!” Jackie squealed.

“You look it, too.”

In the thirty-one days Geeta had been working for Jackie she’d seen her boss absolutely balloon. So slim not so long ago, barely 130lbs, Jackie had since become well and truly overweight, and as she posed for Geeta’s camera in her signature red bikini, the resultant changes were all too apparent to Geeta. Jackie’s slender fingers, her strong jawline, her thigh gap, all had vanished. In their place were place were plump, stubby digits; a soft, pudgy double chin; and two thick, chubby thighs. Her ass, already large, was now almost twice its former size, each cheek round, chunky and riddled with cellulite. Similarly, while her breasts were impressive before she began gaining, they’d since swollen up four cup sizes, sacrificing their pertness for sheer size and sensual sagginess. The biggest change, however, had been to Jackie’s middle: formerly so firm and flat, over the last three weeks a soft, jiggly single belly had steadily started to grow upon it. Extending a few inches out from the rest of her figure, it didn’t yet outreach Jackie’s bust, but considering how quickly it had packed pounds on lately, Geeta had no doubt it soon would. The strange thing was, for some reason she didn’t understand, Geeta couldn’t wait until it did.

“Do you think I’ll get a belly hang soon?” Jackie asked, turning to the side for her profile shots.

“At this rate?” Geeta said, “Probably next week.”

“God, I’m so excited! Mind if we do some silly shots?”

Silly shots were what Jackie called her non-comparative photos, the ones where instead up standing straight upright she modelled all manner of sexy poses to flaunt her fattening figure. She had begun doing more and more lately. Geeta didn’t mind, though.

“You know,” Jackie said, bending over with her blubbery backside to the lens, “when I get a belly hang I’ll be able to so many more poses. Like, I’ll be able to grab it an such, jiggle it, play with it—”

“I can’t wait!”

 _Shit_. Had Geeta really said that? What was wrong with her?

“Nor can I!” Jackie laughed. Her laughter was electrifying, like a million tiny diamonds pouring out of a velvet bag. “What’ve I got lined up for today, sugar?”

“Well,” Geeta read from her tablet, “Lan’s coming over at ten, so you’re skipping breakfast and going straight to the workout—”

“Well shoot,” Jackie groaned. “Have I really gotta workout?”

“I mean, it’s your timetable, you said it was important so you don’t lose your mobility—”

“I’m jokin’, darlin’.”

“Oh.” Again, Geeta had made a fool of herself. Why did she have to be so awkward all the time? So fucking inept?

“Darlin’?”

It’d always been this way, she’d get so flustered, so stressed with work and then she’d barely be able to take in what people were saying, so she’d miss the jokes, miss the questions, then her colleagues would start avoiding her, then her bosses would fire her and she’d be out of work again, all because she was so fucking clueless…

“Darlin’, you’re crying.”

“What?” Then Geeta realised what Jackie had said. Then she realised what Jackie meant. All far too slowly. Fuck. “S-s-sorry.”

“What the heck for?” Gracelessly, Jackie stepped down from the raised photo set, making her whole body wobble as she did so. Still wobbling, she waddled towards her PA and—

“N-n-no, no!”

Too late. Geeta was being hugged. Hugged, by the most joyful and inspiring person she’d ever met. Geeta could feel Jackie’s fat melting into her own and was struck by how different their fat felt: Geeta’s own flab only felt ugly and ungainly, but Jackie’s was different, so tender and comforting, as if belonged on her body. Geeta couldn’t get over it, couldn’t focus on anything else except the plump plushness of Jackie’s body, the coolness of her skin and the warmth of her body… It was overwhelming.

She had to get out.

Now.

“Oh my god,” Jackie cried, “I’m so sorry Geeta.”

“No...” Geeta muttered, “it’s me, it’s nothing…”

“No, I should’ve asked if you were a hugger.”

“It’s not you, really, it’s not you…”

“Geeta, I’m sorry…”

“It’s not you!” Geeta shouted, overcome with anxiety. Jackie seemed shocked, which only made Geeta feel worse, but that was probably for the best. “I’m just a mess.”

“Shush, you’re not a mess darlin’.”

But she was a mess, Geeta knew that. Geeta was a mess, and Jackie deserved better from an employee in such an important and personal position…

“What say we get you some food?” Jackie offered.

“I don’t know…” Food was the last thing Geeta needed or deserved. Food, ultimately, was what always cost Geeta her jobs, once her bosses realised how much she ate just to stay productive and keep her social anxiety at bay. Food was what made Geeta so big, so bulky, so blemished by rolls and stretch marks. Food was what made her unlovable.

“Seriously sugar,” Jackie persisted, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed—” she patted her sizeable stomach “—but when I get upset, I eat, and that always does me wonders for me!”

“I suppose you’re right…”

“That’s the spirit!” Jackie patted her PA on the back. “You should never be ashamed to pig out, nobody should. Especially not in this house!”

Unfortunately, Geeta knew that would be easier said than done.

**The Athlete**

“So, you ready?”

“You betcha, darlin’!” Jackie beamed.

“You’ve worked up an appetite?” Lana asked.

“Damn right, workouts are hell but they sure leave me hungry!”

“And you’ve skipped breakfast?”

“Yeah!”

“Really?”

“Absolutely, haven’t eaten all morning.”

“Jackie…”

“Fine…” Jackie moaned. “I might’ve had a cupcake.”

“And?”

“…and fifteen other cupcakes.”

“Jackie, we’ve talked about this,” Lana scolded her. “If you want to be the best competitive eater you can be you need to keep your stomach empty.”

“But I don’t want to be the ultimate competitive eater,” said Jackie, “I want to be the ultimate _gainer_. The ultimate fatty.”

“And you will be, I mean look at you, but you gotta show restraint—”

“A true gainer knows no restraint!” Jackie said, proudly. “A true gainer pigs out constantly, a true gainer never skips a meal or a snack!”

“A snack?”

“I might’ve had some candy bars too…”

“Jackie!”

“I know, I know, it effects my performance—”

“It ruins your performance—”

“But if I’m gonna be the ultimate gainer then I can’t ever stop stuffing my face, even if I’m preparing to speed eat. It’s not about winning competitions, it’s not about prizes, it’s about being the biggest glutton I can be. In five months, I am gonna host a party for everyone who’s anyone, celebrities, socialites, the whole damn bunch. I’m gonna eat the way you eat in front of all of them, the way you’re training me to eat, and they’ll all see I’m the greediest girl in the world, the piggiest pig of them all!”

Lana paused.

“But why?”

“To show them it’s okay to be a fatass.”

“And because it turns you on.”

“Yeah,” Jackie blushed, “that too…”

“I don’t understand it,” said Lana, “but you’re determined, I’ll give you that. And I respect that. So I’ll train you your way. I’ll increase your stomach capacity so much it’ll be like you have a black hole in your gut. Just don’t blame me if your stomach ruptures.”

“I’m trustin’ on you to make it so big that can’t happen.”

“Well, I’ll do what I can,” Lana smiled, “but first, we gotta get through these donuts.”

Donuts were Lana’s speciality. Six years ago, she had made her name in the competitive eating scene by setting the world record time for eating a box of twelve glazed donuts. That time was fifty-eight seconds and had yet to be beaten, so Jackie didn’t realistically expect to surpass it herself. Still, a girl could dream…

“Remember, efficiency is key. Lana sat bolt upright, as if steeling herself for the oncoming onslaught of calories. “Always look for little tricks you can use to eat your food as fast possible, such as?”

“Puttin’ the donut in your mouth sideways and crushin’ it with your jaw! Minimise volume, maximise speed!”

“Good. Obviously, that strategy only works on donuts, but what’s the most universally-applicable technique for maximising food intake?”

“The one-bite rule. If it can fit in your mouth in one bite, that’s how you eat it.”

“Exactly, you’re learning. Now, ready?”

And so, the stuffing began. One donut went disappeared down Jackie’s throat, then another, and another. The sugar seemed to clog her mouth, but she couldn’t stop, not even as her stomach began to ache. Another donut, and another, and Jackie started to feel as if she no was no longer breathing air but dough, as if the dough was filling up her lungs as well as her stomach, as if her entire body was a balloon being filled to its absolute limit. One more donut, one stray needle, and she might explode, with blood and flesh and skin sent flying everywhere as the contents of her stomach spilled forth…

But then it was over. All in one minute and forty seconds.

It had been, unquestionably, the most physically and mentally taxing task Jackie had ever attempted. Yet she’d attempted it before, and whilst her speed had improved, the pain certainly hadn’t lessened. But she’d keep at it.

“How long do you think you need before we can try again?” Lana asked, having finished nearly a minute earlier. “Twenty minutes?”

Jackie finished a long swig of water.

“Ten.”


	4. Chapter 4

**The Scientist**

It was took a few seconds for Emma to fully comprehend what she was seeing.

“You’re… you’re…”

“Huge, yep!”

“But… how…”

“You tell me, darlin’,” Jackie grinned, “it’s your diet plan.”

“I mean, I expected to see results, but this…”

“I’ve gained 84lbs since we last met!”

“What? But it’s not even been two months!”

“And yet I weighed in at 212lbs this mornin’. Are you questionin’ my scales? They’re state-of-the art…”

“Oh no, not at all!”

“Or maybe you have your doubts about Geeta’s measurements,” Jackie laughed, gesturing to the plump, dumpy woman beside her, “‘cause let me tell you sugar, Geeta here’s the best PA a gal could ask for!”

“I-I wouldn’t say that,” Geeta muttered, blushing.

“Oh shush now,” and at that Jackie and Geeta seemed to forget Emma was there, and simply lost themselves in their bickering. The truth was, Emma had no doubts that Jackie truly was 212lbs now: compared to the petite former-prom queen Emma had first met, Jackie was massive. Her shoulders had to be twice as broad now as they’d once been, and the billowy short shoulder top Jackie wore let Emma fully absorb just how smooth, round and pudgy they now were. The flabbiness of her arms was similarly apparent in the sleeveless top Jackie wore; once so thin and firm, each thick forearm now carried with it several inches of doughy, dangling fat that swung back and forth with even the slightest movement. Flabby too were her thighs, chunky chafing tubes of chub covered in so much cellulite that Emma could see the dimples through Jackie’s leggings; they were pulled so tight over her lardy legs, after all, that that the fabric was practically translucent. More obvious to Emma, however, was the growth of Jackie’s belly, for the heiress’ extremely ample chest pulled the flowy top so high as to proudly display her navel. Most women, Emma knew, would be terrified to be seen in public as Jackie was, with an enormous blubbery belly like that bulging forth out from under their tops and flabbily flopping over the waistbands of their leggings. Instead, Jackie seemed proud of her pudge, making no effort to hide it. Either she possessed a pudgy, double-chinned poker face, Emma thought, or Jackie was totally incapable of embarrassment.

“And that, Geeta, is why you’re the best in the business and I don’t wanna hear another word otherwise!”

“Um, guys,” Emma interrupted, “aren’t we going to go in and order?”

“Yes!” Geeta cried, to Emma’s surprise. “I’m hungry,” she explained, much more sheepishly.

And so, the three women made their way into the restaurant. Emma took the lead, but after she opened the door for her companions she realised that’d been a mistake. Jackie no longer walked but waddled, slowly and ungainly; Geeta had clearly grown lose to her employer’s speed, but Emma hadn’t yet, and so she’d accidentally drawn attention to it. Shit, she thought. Maybe this would finally be the moment Jackie showed shame, and Emma would lose the easiest and best-paying job she’d ever had.

Finally, Jackie it made it to the door, still awkwardly held open by a very embarrassed Emma.

“As you can see,” Jackie laughed, “I’m pretty sluggish these days!”

This concerned Emma a great deal.

“Are you still working out?” she asked, as the girls made their way to their table.

“Oh yes,” Jackie explained, plopping her blubbery behind into her seat, “every day. Just enough to make sure my joints can handle the weight. It’s just that, no matter how fit I am, bein’ this big and heavy is gonna slow me down a ton, pun intended.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Shouldn’t you know how bein’ fat feels? It’s kinda your field of research, after all.”

“I study fat, I’ve never been fat.”

“It’s wonderful, you should try it!”

“Thanks, but for now I think I’ll order the salad.”

Luckily, Emma knew salads were an available option. In her email invite, Geeta took great care to specify that she had chosen this particular restaurant after browsing every the menus and reviews for every restaurant in the city, and concluding that it had the best mix of healthy and unhealthy options at the highest quality. So, Emma would have a salad, as would Geeta, but Jackie had more filling options on her mind.

“To start, I’d like the meat platter for four please, then for mains I’ll have the bacon ragu with extra cheese and two sides of garlic bread. Oh, and two bowls of the ragu, if you can.”

The waitress was visibly shocked.

“Will that be all?” she asked.

“Actually, I’ll have the doughballs as well if that’s no trouble. And remember, extra cheese on both ragus!”

Quickly, the waitress scurried away. Emma supposed she was anticipating a large tip, as well she should.

“Do I even need to ask if you’ve been eating enough calories?” Emma asked.

“Over 20K a day, every day, without fail.” Jackie patted her bulbous belly. “Actually, that’s partly why I wanted to meet you in person. Could we increase my daily minimum?”

Emma spat out her cranberry juice.

“What?” she gasped. “Is 20,000 calories a day not enough?”

“It’s plenty enough darlin’,” Jackie explained, “but I’m gonna be the ultimate gainer, the ultimate fatass, and for a true fatass there is no such thing as ‘enough’. Besides, I’m eatin’ more than that most days now, it’s not even a challenge anymore.”

“Right.” Emma’s face turned stern. “As the closest thing you have to a nutritionist it’s my duty to point out that 20,000 is already 10 times your recommended calorie intake—”

“I’m aware, yes.”

“Well, eating even more is gonna have an even greater impact on your health—”

“I work out.”

“Not enough, technically—”

“I am well aware of the risks.” Jackie’s voice sounded much more serious all of a sudden, far more serious than Emma was used to hearing from her seemingly-carefree client. “For god’s sake, you cannot even imagine how painful speed eatin’ is, it’s like you can feel yourself slowly wreckin’ all of your organs at once and at any point it might become impossible to breathe… But I do it. Because this is who I am, this is who I’m meant to be. I’ve spent twenty-five years of my life hatin’ myself and my body, doin’ whatever daddy told me, tryin’ so hard to work up the confidence to be myself, an’ now I’m finally ready an’… I can’t wait any longer. I need to do all this, Emma. I need to get enormous. An’ yes, it’s risky. I’ll do what I can to limit those risks, I’ll do more cardio, but I can’t let them scare me off. As much as I wish you could, you can’t make your dreams come true without a takin’ a few chances.”

Emma breathed out.

“That’s… honestly reassuring. You’re right. Just remember these are very big risks—”

“But the reward is even bigger. For me, anyway.”

“I understand. So,” Emma asked, “if you’re do an extra hour of working out each day (which still isn’t enough, mind), how high would you like your daily calorie goal to be? Twelve thousand?

“I was thinkin’ more like thirty?”

**The Mastermind**

All that good work, all undone. Geeta had been eating better lately, avoiding all the temptations Jackie so carelessly placed in front of her, and she’d felt awfully proud of herself for only ordering a salad at lunch. But then Jackie wanted desert.

“I’ll have the tiramisu please, and two gelato sundaes, one strawberry, one chocolate.”

And that was it. Chocolate was Geeta’s kryptonite. And she was so hungry, so starved after dieting for a week! But then, she’d been good, hadn’t she? She deserved a little treat.

That little treated turned into a dessert order even larger than Jackie’s. With Jackie paying, there was nothing to limit Geeta’s greed, and soon she found herself in an impromptu competition with Jackie to see who could eat the most desserts. Jackie one, there were few who could match her appetite these days, but Geeta put up a good fight and she hadn’t even been training. With the charming glutton beside her, making her feel so warm inside, Geeta didn’t even realise the damage she was doing until she was absolutely stuffed to the gills with cream and chocolate. And of course, by then it was too late.

Geeta was ever quieter than usual for the rest of the day. Sometimes, Jackie would try to talk to her, and Geeta was happy to fetch whatever she asked for, but she didn’t much feel like talking. She was a monster, a freak, and unlovable freak with no self-control.”

“Do you think I’m a freak?” Jackie asked, lying on the sofa somewhat less lazily than usual.

 _Shit_ , Geeta thought.

“D-d-did I say anything anything? I-I mean, out loud?”

“No, nothin’ at all sugar. Just wonderin’ what you really thought of me.”

“I-I-I…” What to say? How was Geeta possibly supposed to respond? “I don’t know. I don’t think you’re a freak, at least.”

“Really?” Jackie smiled, inquisitively. “How come?”

“I don’t—”

“I mean I’m such a glutton,” she went on, “ a total pig, ruinin’ my body like this, you must think I’m disgustin’—”

“Never!” Geeta cried, quite accidentally. She blushed. “You could never be disgusting,” she continued, more quietly, “you’re too… you.”

“Care to explain, darlin’?”

“You, you’re too… too fiery.” Shit, Geeta thought, stop digging your own hole! Yet her mouth kept running. “Not in an angry way, or a destructive way, you’re just warm, and… cosy. You could never disgust people. So yeah, you just keep doing… what you’re doing.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Geeta. But I was really askin’ about you.”

“What?”

“If I’m not a freak for piggin’ out like I do, how come you are?”

“I-I-I don’t—”

“It’s obvious, darlin’, don’t pretend.”

“Well…” Geeta paused. She wasn’t used to people being so upfront about her attitude. “Because you’re you, and I’m me. You could never be disgusting, but I don’t have what you have.”

“Interestin’,” Jackie pondered, “but wouldn’t the simpler explanation be that piggin’ out is nothin’ to be ashamed of?”

“N-n-no, that can’t be… that can’t be right.”

“How come?”

“B-b-because you’re special.” Fuck, why did Geeta have opening her mouth?

“It’s sweet you think that Geeta, it really is,” said Jackie, more serious now, “but I’m nothin’ special. I’m not special just ‘cause of who my daddy is. I’m different, sure, fuck knows the old bastard screwed me up for life, but I’m no better than anyone else. Especially not you. I just happen to know there’s nothin’ wrong with bein’ a fatass.”

“Oh no, there isn’t—”

“Then what makes you different?”

“I-I-I’m…” Geeta burst into tears. “I’m a wreck,” she wailed.

“Shush, Geeta.” Jackie heaved herself up, and placed a single pudgy hand on her PA’s shoulder. “You’re not a wreck. You’re an amazin’ woman, one of the best I’ve met. A beautiful, wonderful person.”

“I’m… I’m not beautiful.”

“Just ‘cause you’re a little chubby?” Jackie chuckled. “Shouldn’t come as a surprise I don’t consider that a flaw!”

“Oh, it isn’t. I-I-I know that.”

“That’s good, that’s good. You already know there’s nothin’ wrong with bein’ fat. That’s the first step.”

“The-the-the… the first?”

“Yeah sugar. The first step in acceptin’ who you are. ‘Cause if you know, logically, that there’s nothin’ wrong with bein’ fat, then you can start thinkin’ about why you hate fat. About how you were taught to hate fat, to hate yourself for bein’ fat. That’s the next step. There’s a long way to, trust me I know, but you’re on your way, and you’ll get there Geeta because let me tell you, you are wonderful.”

“T-t-thank you,” Geeta sniffed.

“Now tell me girl, do you enjoy eatin’? Be honest with yourself, do you have a good time when you pig out?”

“I-I do it because it makes me feel b-b-better.”

“But do you enjoy it? Is it fun?”

Geeta went completely silent. Then, almost inaudibly, she muttered:

“Yes.”

“I suspected as much,” said Jackie. “Now, as your employer, I am gonna be changin’ your duties a bit.”

“What?

“Every now and again, I’m gonna ask you to eat with me. You ain’t gotta if it makes you uncomfortable, but I’d like it a lot if you did. Maybe we can have more competitions and stuff like that! An’ I want to see you snackin’ more often. Like, you ain’t gotta, I won’t force you, but if I saw you chompin’ on chocolate 24/7 like you say you used to… Why, that’d make me happy, that’s all. Would this be okay?”

Trembling, Geeta nodded. Then, before she could stop herself, she was squeezing Jackie’s fat, fluffy frame as tight as she could, crying into her corpulent cleavage. Jackie hugged back, and Geeta noticed she was shedding a few small tears too.

The warmth, the softness… Geeta wished it could’ve lasted forever.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Mastermind**

Perhaps, Geeta thought, she’d slightly overestimated her skill at events-planning. It wasn’t like her to overestimate anything, that she knew, but considering how much trouble she’d been having organising Jackie’s big party, how scatter-brained she seemed to be now the big day was drawing nearer, it seemed plausible that—

No. Geeta took another bite of her Snickers. She hadn’t overestimated her abilities, she’d simply… underestimated the difficulty of this particular task. And of course she had: when she’d worked in events full-time all she ever handled was kids’ birthday parties. Those took a lot of work sure, considering how demanding Orange County parents could be, but they were nothing compared to what Jackie wanted arranged. Invites needed to be sent, staff had to be hired, decorations had to be purchased, catering had to be ordered, so much catering, so much work…

Thank God for food.

“Geeta! You want some carrot cake?”

Geeta shoved the rest of her Snickers in her mouth and waddled her way to Jackie’s sofa. There, the blubbery beauty reclined carelessly on her side, her bountiful belly protruding proudly into the air. Despite gravity, it didn’t spill towards the floor at all; the pressure of Jackie’s constantly stuffed stomach had forced it to grow very, very firm. And yet it was simultaneously very, very soft; Geeta was still struggling to fully comprehend its contradictory texture. The closest comparison she could think of was to her mattress, though instead of being elevated by a hard wooden bed, Jackie’s belly was supported by a broad, bulky figure and doughy, dimpled thighs. Plump, pillowy breasts sagged to either side of it, unsupported by any bra; the cheap, loose tee shirt Jackie wore did little to hide them, just as her sweats did little to disguise the size of her thighs. Nevertheless, Geeta wasn’t surprised these clothes didn’t fit too well: Jackie had gained over twenty pounds this week alone, and with the party next week Geeta hadn’t had time to order her employer any more outfits. Jackie didn’t mind though, she never did: all she seemed to care about was eating and getting fatter.

And the party, Geeta reminded herself, suppressing a groan. Still, a distraction from the stress of party-planning would be welcome, and a delicious slice of cake even more so. Geeta smiled, and plopped her plump bottom on the sofa’s arm. She knew better than to ask Jackie, as lethargic as she was, to even consider the Herculean task of shifting her legs.

“Isn’t carrot cake a little too… healthy for you?” Geeta asked.

“It’s covered in cream cheese icing…” Jackie teased.

“It would be, wouldn’t it.” Geeta chuckled.

“A little can’t hurt you,” Jackie said, cutting Geeta a very large slice of the cake on the table in front of her. “Might do you so good!”

“You and I have a very different idea of what’s good for me,” Geeta replied, before shoving the slice in her mouth with glee.

“And yet you’re eating!”

“And yet I am…” Geeta swallowed. She’d been growing lately, too. Not as fast as Jackie, that was practically impossible, but all the same Geeta was keenly aware her weight was creeping higher and higher. None of her many, many rolls had ever vanished, no matter how many times she’d lost weight in the past, but lately all of them had been ballooning, and though Geeta had yet to return to her all-time heaviest weight of 213lbs, some of those rolls were bigger than they’d ever been. Geeta even suspected a few new ones might’ve been forming on her back, but she didn’t have the courage to check if it was true. What little muscle Geeta had was rapidly disappearing, replaced with roll after roll after roll of flab. She was becoming a blob again, a squidgy, disgusting pile of fat. Geeta thought she looked somewhat the like the dogshit emoji. She certainly felt like dogshit, after all.

And still she ate. She asked Jackie for a second slice.

“You look beautiful darlin’,” Jackie said, as if she’d read Geeta’s mind. “You were beautiful before, you’re beautiful now and you’ll always be beautiful. Couple pounds sure won’t change that.”

“It’s more than a couple of pounds Jackie.”

“But you’re still gorgeous.”

“I’m a mess of fat rolls—”

“And every single one is wonderful!” Jackie interrupted, grinning. “I know I can’t expect you to love the chub as much as I do,” she continued, “but try to not to hate it, okay? Or your eatin’ habits.”

“I’m trying…” Geeta mumbled. “I just wish I didn’t have to eat so much to get anything done.”

“You’re a little glutton,” said Jackie, “and that’s not a bad thing! You love to eat, and you love to eat a lot. I’m kinda envious of it, to be honest! I’ve had to train to get this greedy, but for you?” She laughed, and the sound was so lovely that Geeta couldn’t so much as muster the strength to be offended by what Jackie was saying. “For you, it’s natural. It’s a part of who you are. An’ you shouldn’t have to deny yourself just ‘cause your old bosses gave you shit about it.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that…”

“Doesn’t surprise me. But tell me, you ever consider that your diet might be good for you?”

“What?”

“Geeta, since you started piggin’ out again your productivity has skyrocketed. You seem so much more organised, you’re much more alert and attentive and, most importantly, you seem happier. Less stressed. An’, I know you’re stressed with the party, an’ I know that’s my fault, but this stress is different to the stress you had before. You don’t seem… uncomfortable anymore.”

“I s-s-suppose you’re right.”

“Always am,” Jackie chuckled. “Now, have another slice of cake. You gotta lot of party planning to do!”

If only that was all it would take to get the party planned. Geeta knew she’d soon be needing a lot more Snickers.

**The Artist**

America. Home of ranch sauce, apple pie and the Big Mac. Everything was so big there: the cars, the malls, and most importantly, the people. Of all the many countries she’d visited, there were none Tilda loved more. There, her talents were appreciated. There, she didn’t stand out among the masses. There, she belonged. Except in Los Angeles.

Los Angeles, Tilda thought, was a blemish on the land of bigness: it was big, sure, but only superficially. It was a place of plastic surgery and pseudoscience, of yoga instructors and skin-and-bones celebrities; the only place in the world where cocaine was seen as healthier than cake. Tilda had visited the city three times already, and while one of those trips was purely for pleasure, there hadn’t been much pleasurable about it all. As such, she didn’t expect to particularly enjoy working with her new client, one Ms Jackie Plainview: she’d probably be just another actress with an eating disorder, convinced she was plus-sized and desperate to seem slimmer, and Tilda would have to turn her down on principle.

She was surprised, therefore, when she arrived at the Plainview residence and was greeted by a very plump woman in a very tight dress.

“T-T-Tilda Lyngstad?”

“Hello.” The stranger seemed as surprised at Tilda’s size as Tilda was at hers, but Tilda was used to such reactions. After all, she remembered smugly, it wasn’t every day you saw an ass over one and a half metres wide.

“Jackie’s out b-by the pool, let me l-l-lead you.”

Tilda followed the stranger, watching her blubbery behind bounce up and down as she walked. It was impressive for a girl her size, Tilda thought, but of course it couldn’t compare to her own. Hers was enormous. Hers was perfect. Still, the stranger was certainly fat, and Tilda could only hope her boss was just as heavy.

Eventually, the pair stepped outside onto the patio, and it was Tilda’s turn to be surprised again.

“Tilda! I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Huffing and puffing, the woman raised herself from a sun lounger and stood up. The tight bikini she wore showed off every inch of her ample supply of adipose. Her big breasts sagged low and heavy, her flabby thighs rippled as she walked, and her bountiful belly was swollen and strewn with stretch marks. She was a vision. She was an angel. She was big; but thankfully, nowhere near as big as Tilda.

“You are a big woman,” Tilda said, somewhat stunned. She’d never expected Jackie to be so huge!

“So are you! Sorry, no offence.”

“Why would I be offended?” Tilda replied, confused. “I am big, and I am glorious.” She patted her sizeable stomach.

“Wow.” Jackie breathed deeply. “This is amazin’. I knew you’d be the right person!”

And with that, Jackie’s offered Tilda a seat, and began explaining her project as her PA fetched the pair some sugary snacks. Jackie wanted to be fatter, she explained, much fatter, and also much greedier, and much lazier. She wanted to be as fat and as greedy and as lazy as possible, and she was extremely determined to accomplish that goal. Tilda was amazed, awed, and slightly jealous she hadn’t had the idea first.

“You are a true artist, Jackie,” she said, in her strong Swedish accent.

“An artist?” Jackie laughed. “I don’t know about that. Never could draw for the life of me.”

“But you are an artist,” Tilda insisted, “a true artist. You know what is truly sublime, you seek true beauty. We are the same, you and I.”

“I don’t follow, sugar.”

“People in my country do not appreciate the aesthetic of fat. They think thinness is sexy, but you and I, we know that fat is what’s really sexy. Idleness, gluttony, fat: that is where the sublime truly lies, and you and I, we want it. We are artists: we seek the sublime. Our minds and our bodies, they are our canvases: we will make them sublime, we will make them art, we will live our art.”

“I can’t say I understood any of that!”

“You understand what is important. You understand beauty. You know that fat is supreme.”

“That I do.”

“So why do you need me?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I need clothes! I have a party next week, you see.” Jackie giggled. “I want a dress that makes me look fat.”

“Really? You want to look fat?” Jackie nodded, and Tilda grinned. This was the greatest opportunity she’d ever been offered. “This is perfect.”

“How come?”

“I design clothes for plus-size women, plus-size models. They are wide, they are curvy, but they are not fat, not like you. They are not greedy, they are not lazy; they hide their bellies. They may think they are fat, but they are not, not in the mind, and that is where it really matters. You, you are truly fat, in mind and body. Truly fat, and truly majestic. Although,” Tilda patted her belly, “nowhere near as fat as me.”

“Oh really?” Jackie smirked. “Because that belly looks awfully flat from over here, darlin’!”

“My belly is massive,” Tilda snorted, “it is only because my hips are so large that it looks small. You, meanwhile, have no hips at all.”

“I’d say I’ve got some pretty wide hips going on.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you are very narrow, very scrawny. Now, these,” Tilda rested her hands on her humongous hips, “these are what real hips look like! And don’t even get me started on your ass…”

“I have a big butt!” Jackie cried, in mock offense.

“Oh, it is big,” said Tilda, “But not really big. Not like mine.” She turned around, and smacked her elephantine ass. She loved doing that. “It measures 184cm, and my thighs are proportionally large.”

“But that belly…” Jackie poked Tilda’s navel. “It doesn’t stick out much at all, does it?”

“I have a big belly!” Tilda cried. “It is huge!”

And so it went on: Tilda argued with Jackie for over and hour about who was the better fatty. Neither woman backed down once, but Tilda knew she was right: she was the sexiest fatty in the world, and she always would be. No matter how determined she was to grow, this upstart in the art of adipose could never exceed Tilda’s immensity; why, she had to be at least 100 kilos lighter than Tilda, and Tilda had no intention of slacking on her snacking, Still, Jackie was extraordinary, and her image and her attitude soon filled Tilda’s mind with countless ideas and designs. 

“You shall be my inspiration,” she said, inspecting Jackie’s figure, “my muse. I shall make a dress for that belly to bulge out of, for that bottom to rip through. You shall look luxurious, yet lazy: a monument to decadence. But I want just be doing a dress, I’ll be doing a whole line of clothing, with you as my lead model, my star. I shall call it “slob-chic”, and we will show the world true beauty, we shall make everyone wish they were fat!”

“That’s rather ambitious, darlin’,” Jackie smiled, “but I am definitely onboard.”

“In that case we must have a toast. ” Tilda and Jackie returned to their seats, whilst Geeta scurried away to fetch the champagne. Once she’d returned, and once Tilda had finished inspecting the vintage, Tilda offered her toast.

“To true beauty,” she began. “To hedonism. To fat!”

**The Athlete**

There had been four minutes of awkward silence before Lana elected to speak.

“So… where is she again?”

“In the s-shower,” Geeta replied.

And the silence resumed.

“Does she always take this long in the shower?” Lana said, finally.

“Quite often. S-s-she spends a lot of time… admiring her body in there.”

“Yeah that sounds like— Wait. How would you know what she does in the shower?”

Geeta blushed.

“S-s-sometimes she asks me to b-bring her food.”

“In the shower?”

“Well, she steps out the shower to eat, then she gets back in,” Geeta replied hurriedly. “She likes to have c-c-cupcakes in there.”

“And that’s the only reason she asks you to join her in the bathroom?” Lana raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes, yes…” Lana watched Geeta slowly start to frown as she realised what Lana had meant. “Wait! No! No, no, no!”

“No, there’s another reason you join her in the shower?”

“I don’t join her in the shower,” Geeta squeaked, “I just bring her food, and that’s all we do in there! She’s my boss! I’m her PA! That’s all it is! It’d never be anything else, ever! And besides, she’s s-s-straight.”

“And you’re not?”

“Oh, I am, I am, I’m very, very straight. S-s-straight as an arrow. I’m just her employee, and her f-f-friend.”

That might have been the case, Lana knew. But she suspected there was more at play, and she was determined to find out what. It wasn’t that she was greedy for gossip; Lana struggled to suppress a groan whenever she overheard strangers discussing their melodramatic love lives. It wasn’t for the sake of humour either; her interrogation had certainly started as gentle ribbing, but it wasn’t amusing to her anymore. She had to know what was between these two, needed to, but she couldn’t quite place her finger on why.

“Do you care about her?” she asked.

“Do I…” Geeta paused. “Of course. It’s my job.”

“I mean emotionally.” Was Lana being to blunt? She knew she could be, she often was, never knew when to shut her trap…

“Well, yes,” Geeta replied, quite candid. Lana breathed a sigh of relief. “But she k-kind of makes it hard not to,” Geeta continued. “She just has so much… enthusiasm, so much joy, and you just get sucked in and you don’t even want to struggle…”

“Yeah,” Lana muttered, “she has that effect. Like, she asks so much but it doesn’t even feel like work…”

“Exactly. And you should see the shit I’ve got to organise for this party next week.”

“I can imagine.” She laughed, and was surprised to notice Geeta laugh with her. “What is it with the party, by the way? She doesn’t seem like she really belongs in high-society.”

“I think that’s the point. She wants to change things. Convince the rich and famous that being fat is okay.”

“That sounds… challenging.”

“You know how she is. When she’s set on something there’s no talking her out of it.”

“But why them? Why start with socialites and sex addicts?”

“I don’t know… she doesn’t talk about it a lot.”

“That’s not like her.”

“No. She’s very… share-y.”

“Lana! Darlin’!”

Jackie sauntered into the room, clad in a sports bra and sweats.

“You prepared this time, Jackie?” Lana asked. “Been starving yourself?” Of course, Lana already knew the answer to that question.

“Well, I’m still hungry, at least…” She smiled, mischievously.

“You hiding something?”

“S-s-she’s had ten pancakes this morning,” Geeta laughed, “as well as too much whipped cream to count.”

“Oh Jackie, Jackie, Jackie…” Lana chuckled. “When will you learn?”


	6. Chapter 6

**The Athlete**

Lana had always hated parties. The sound; the stench; the sea of skin, slimy with sweat and spilt champagne: it was all too overwhelming for her. But Jackie had invited her, and Lana was loathe to say no to one of the few people she called a friend, not least because of how insistent she knew Jackie could be. So there Lana was, surrounded by people with more money than she could even visualise, and desperately trying to strike up a conversation with someone, anyone, but there was so much noise, and so little being said…

“Hi, I’m Lana, I was wondering if you—”

But the group slowly sauntered off, so obliviously that Lana began to doubt they’d even heard her, despite how near to them she’d stood. Or had she been too close, too close for comfort? Had she said too much? Whatever had happened, she couldn’t let this deter her. Tentatively, she approached another group, an elderly couple with faces battered into oblivion by Botox.

“Hi, I’m Lana, just wondering…”

“Why,” the lady began, “that’s quite an exotic name, wouldn’t you agree Charles? Simply wonderful!” The old man beside her grumbled in agreement.

“Exotic? I don’t know about that, it was the 384th most popular girl’s name in the US last year, it means handsome, or beautiful, or resilient…” When she’d chosen her name, Lana had done her fair amount of research.

“Oh, I know plenty of Lanas, but as a boy’s name?”

Fuck, Lana thought to herself. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I’m not a boy,” she mumbled, sadly.

“Oh, compared to my Charles, I’d say you are!” The lady winked, flirtatiously, crumpling her crow’s feet together. Her silicone smile was unnerving.

“No, I mean I’m not male.”

“Oh.” The old lady paused, and sipped her chardonnay. “You’re one of those.” She paused again. “Good for you!”

But the pauses were telling. Lana was already scurrying away.

Why did this always end up happening, she wondered? Was her hair too short? Was she too fit, too muscular, too unfeminine? A million possibilities floated through her mind, but of course, she realised, she was trying to fool herself. The answer to all these questions was the same as it ever was. She was not one of them. She never would be.

Never could be.

Flustered, Lana floated through the crowd, desperate to see a friendly face, a familiar face, anybody—Geeta. Geeta was there, huddled in a corner, cramming canapes into her mouth. Thank god.

“You look wonderful tonight,” Lana said cheerfully, eager to put tonight’s trauma behind her. She was being sincere: sure, the black, shimmery cloth of the cocktail dress clung tightly to every crease and every roll of it wearer’s flabby figure, but if the past few months has taught Lana anything, it was that fatness could be beautiful too, in its own way.

“You’re just being nice,” Geeta replied, dismissively “Everyone else thinks I look like a freak.”

“Really? They said that?”

“No, but I know.” Lana knew all too well. “God,” Geeta continued, “I can’t believe I let Jackie talk me into this…”

“So this was her choice?” said Lana, somewhat concerned.

“Well, no, not exactly, but she said she’d love it if I was as unashamed of my size tonight as she was. So I’m trying, I really am. And I don’t want to whine about it, but it’s naturally easier for her and I don’t think she realises that. I don’t think she realises how gorgeous she is.”

“Trust me,” Lana smirked, “I think she realises.”

“Not really. She’s confident—

“I’m aware.”

“—but she has this insatiable urge to… improve things. And I don’t just mean herself, her body, it’s… it’s everything. She’s so ambitious, so hopeful and it’s wonderful, but I’m scared she’ll never be satisfied. I’m scared she’ll never stop until she’s spent, until she’s skeletal, until she’s starved.”

“I really don’t think she’s in danger of starving.”

“Literally? Definitely not.” And at that, the two friends laughed together.

“You look stunning Geeta,” said Lana, “I mean it. That dress is killer.”

“Thanks…” Geeta blushed. “The problem is, I agree with you.”

“In that case,” Lana raised a glass, “here’s to us freaks.”

**The Mastermind**

Geeta and Lana had eaten their fair share of appetizers, and drunk a little too much alcohol, when a pillowy pear-shaped platinum blonde thundered her way towards them.

“You must be Tilda,” said Lana.

“Indeed,” Tilda replied. “Was it my immensity that gave away my identity? Or simply my meaty magnificence?”

“Both!” Lana giggled. She didn’t seem to be holding her alcohol very well, which made Geeta slightly concerned. Of course, she’d drunk just as much as Lana had, but Geeta knew she was still extremely sober, that much was obvious, and so resolved to keep an eye on her friend for the rest of the evening. It was her responsibility; it was what she did best.

“Is Jackie ready?” she asked Tilda.

“Ja, yes,” Tilda replied, “it was a tight fit, but it is my philosophy that dresses always should be. Not even a twig like her could fail to look huge in it.”

“A twig?” Geeta cried, more than a little outraged. Tilda’s attitude annoyed her, but before she could say so out loud a new song came on the soundsystem, and a certain blubbery belle waddled into the room.

_I know what boys like, I know what guys want…_

The dress she wore was deep scarlet, and unlike any Geeta had ever seen. The smooth, decadent fabric draped down past Jackie’s feet and trailed behind her on the floor, and thigh-slits on either side showed off almost the entirety of her doughy, dimpled legs. Above the waist, the fabric grew much, much tighter, clinging closely to Jackie’s curves and emphasising every inch of her adipose. Soft, voluptuous breasts bulged out from a shockingly low neckline and, most scandalously of all, a diamond-shaped window in the dress’ middle exposed Jackie’s enormous belly to the world in all its squishy, spherical glory. Finished with a thick layer of stretch-marks, each one like a ravine, it jiggled and wobbled with every step Jackie took, lifted up and down by alternating thighs.

_I see them looking, I make them want me…_

“How do I look?” Jackie asked, grinning.

“Fat!” squealed Lana.

“Captivatingly corpulent,” Tilda added.

And then it was Geeta’s turn to compliment her. But what to say, what to say: Geeta’s mind swam with possibilities, all of them extreme, all of them offensive. She couldn’t be honest, or Jackie might get the wrong idea, but Geeta couldn’t be understated or else Jackie might be hurt. So many words, none of them right: it was so hard to formulate sentences when Jackie looked so distractingly perfect.

“You okay darlin’? You look like a fish.”

Geeta was horrified, she wanted to throw up. Had she really had her mouth open that whole time?

“We were just talkin’ ‘bout my entrance,” Jackie explained.

“S-s-sexist,” Geeta blurted out, finally.

“What?” Jackie seemed more confused than upset. 

“The m-m-music. The Waitresses. A m-misogynistic fetishization of m-m-misandry.” Fuck. Fuck! Why was that the first thing Geeta thought of to say? Why did it have to be that?

Jackie shrugged.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a bit of fetishism, darlin’,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she addressed the group, “I have to go turn some heads.”

**The Father**

It’d been the most embarrassing moment of Paul Arnold Plainview II’s entire life. In fact, he doubted it was possible for him to be more embarrassed. His daughter, at a party with the crème de la crème of Californian society, dressed like that! At her size! And she was so big now, so enormous, it was indecent: it was disgusting. Clad in garish pink, Paul thought she looked like a cartoon pig.

“Hi dad!” Paul watched his bloated bulk of a daughter stride towards him like a bison. “Hi Lottie!”

And at that, Paul grew yet more embarrassed.

“Jackie,” Paul whispered, “Lottie left me ages ago. This is Scarlett.”

“Oh really?” Jackie turned to Scarlett. “I’m so sorry,” she bellowed, smirking, “all you skinny girls look the same to me. Though in my defence I think Lottie used that same mascara.”

Jackie seemed to revel in the look of silent horror on Scarlett’s face, but only for a few seconds. Without uttering a word, Scarlett kicked off her stilettos and stormed out the building; she hadn’t said goodbye, but Paul knew he’d never see her again. And he was pissed about it.

“Jackie!” he scolded. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find girls who’ll let you grope them these days? Fuckin’ Twitter’s ruined everything! You’ve ruined everything!”

“You’re your own worst enemy, dad…”

“At least I haven’t fuckin’ destroyed my body!”

“Really? Because you’ve always looked pretty porky to me. All that bourbon’s never done your body any favours. Not to mention your blood pressure…”

“How dare you!” Paul felt his muscles tense with rage. “You’re a pig,” he spat. “You’re not my daughter.”

He was disgusted, he was humiliated, and his words were full of hatred. But his daughter just laughed.

“Took you long enough,” she smirked.

**The Mastermind**

Geeta had been watching Jackie weave through the crowd for several hours now, and the spectacle was sufficiently stressful to require several more champagnes to endure. Most of the guests had fled in the first forty-five minutes, repulsed by their hostess, but a few had waited awhile to leave, so as to be able to insult Jackie personally before departing. Those remaining at the party, Geeta suspected, stayed only for the free alcohol and food. Even Tilda and Lana had left, albeit out of necessity: once she’d begun wailing like a ghost about how nobody accepted her, her face wet with tears, it became obvious she was in no condition to stay at the party, so Tilda had kindly volunteered to see her home. That left Geeta as Jackie’s sole ally among this host of hostiles, and the thought of that responsibility left her dizzy.

“Geeta! Geeta!” Geeta saw Jackie bound towards her, a little too exuberantly, seemingly struggling to smile. She clutched the hand of a girl Geeta didn’t recognise, a girl with the figure of a supermodel. “This is Hannah, you have to meet her, we used to be a big deal in the Beverly Hills scene not too long ago.”

“Oh, you’re her new friend?” Hannah asked. Geeta nodded, tentatively. “Why the fuck haven’t you talked some sense into her?”

Geeta didn’t know what to say to that.

“I told you Hannah, Jackie sighed, exhausted, “this is what I want.”

“And I’m telling you,” said Hannah, “as your _real_ friend, you need help. You’re not well.”

“You’re the one with the Adderall addiction!”

“Everyone who’s anyone does amphetamines these days, you’re just ruining your body for no good reason.”

“I want the body of my dreams, what’s wrong with that?”

“Your dreams are sick. You’re sick.” Hannah shook herself free of Jackie’s grip, and started towards the door. “Get help,” she said, as if delivering an ultimatum, before leaving.

Jackie’s whole body slumped, and through the sheer fabric of the dress Geeta could see all her rolls squish together. Should she hug her, Geeta wondered? Or would that be too much?”

In the end, she decided against it, just as she did every subsequent time the same circumstances occurred. As the remainder of the party progressed, a pattern emerged: Jackie would approach a guest and turn on the charm, they’d suggest she “get help”, whatever that meant, and leave shortly thereafter. Even Jackie, despite her seemingly endless enthusiasm, seemed exhausted.

“I don’t understand it,” Jackie whimpered, quietly. “I used to steal the show, an’ everyone’s hearts. I was the life of the party, the sexiest Southern belle this side of the San Andreas. What happened?”

“You got fat,” Geeta mumbled in response.

“That hasn’t changed who I am.”

“But they can’t s-s-see that.”

“But they have to. They’re the people that matter! They’re the people that can change things!”

“You d-d-did your best Jackie, you did all you could. It’s just that this was… inevitable.”

Jackie burst out crying.

“No… no!” was the most she could splutter in response, in between heavy breasts.

“Fuck, I’m sorry!” Geeta said, hurriedly, “I’m so, so sorry!” Jackie kept crying. “It’s just, you c-c-can’t, you can’t change their minds, they’re n-n-not like that.”

“I changed.”

“You’re different.”

“Right.” Jackie sniffed. “That’s the problem, I suppose. I’m different, an’ I’m always gonna be…”

“That’s not a bad thing…”

Jackie snapped, suddenly.

“Tell that to any kid who’s ever been called fatass!” She took a deep breath. “I owed them. I had a responsibility. I failed.”

“It was impossible—”

“I don’t wanna believe that.” Still crying, Jackie waddled away.

Geeta started crying too. Why did she have to be so blunt, so callous? She was no help, she was no friend, just an employee and an underperforming one at that. Jackie was wonderful, amazing, she was perfect; Geeta was a fuck-up, insecure, misanthropic. She was unworthy to such much as glance at Jackie’s gorgeousness, and yet she’d ruined her bosses’ night, possibly even her life, and for what? For the sake of sheer nihilism? For an attempt at intimacy? Geeta wasn’t even sure, she was too stupid to know, the irrationality of it all made it that much worse. She needed to leave, leave the house forever, run away on overburdened legs and never look back—but not without a few more drinks first.

A few hours later, as she threw up into a plant pot, Geeta was approached by Jackie, alongside an unfamiliar.

“Geeta, this is Colin,” she slurred.

“Charmed,” said Colin, extending a hand. He was exceedingly handsome, and spoke with a British accent as smooth as melted syrup. His palm felt soft and delicate in Geeta’s grip.

“Colin here likes my ass,” said Jackie, giggling.

“What I actually said was that you were quite a tempting little tart.” He winked.

“Nothin’ little about me, mister!”

“And that’s exactly what endears you to me!” They kissed, mouth to mouth, and Geeta felt like throwing up again.

“I’m stayin’ at Colin’s tonight,” Jackie said to her, “do your best to clean up, will you?” But before Geeta could reply, Jackie had already stumbled away, Colin calmly clutching her. And with the hostess gone, and the alcohol all drank, all the guests began to leave.

Which left Geeta alone.

Alone, sat on her broad, bloated behind, surrounded by spilt drinks, sticky stains and shattered glass. She vomited, straight onto the carpet this time.

And it was at that moment Geeta realised she had fallen in love with her boss.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Mastermind**

In the weeks following the party, Jackie hadn’t grown as much as Geeta had come to expect, but she had, Geeta thought, grown a lot more demanding.

“Geeta, can you pick up all this junk for me?”

“Make sure the house is nice an’ tidy tomorrow, okay Geeta?”

“Clear away all this mess, will you Geeta? Colin will be over soon.”

Colin. Now there was a name Geeta heard a lot of these days. He was different, she was told, to all other men: he knew how to make Jackie feel sexy. Colin, with his quick wit and icy charisma. Colin, with his smooth, chiselled chest and his strong, delicate hands. Colin, who, in his own words, “knew how to appreciate a proper woman”. The party had been a disaster, it’d seen the destruction of all Jackie’s dreams, but it’d been worth it to meet Colin. Colin, Jackie’s sparkling sweetheart, and Geeta’s newfound nemesis.

Geeta wished she didn’t resent Colin as much as he did; he seemed perfectly pleasant, and was certainly charming. Besides, he clearly made Jackie happy: shouldn’t that have been all that mattered? And yet, through no fault of his own, his arrival had ruined Geeta, twisted her into a toxic tangle of cruel thoughts and covetousness. The bitterness burning within her seemed to scorch every part of her body, consuming every movement, every action. She tensed, she trembled, she raged, and not even her insistent self-criticism could quench the jealousy within her. It was hatred after all, and didn’t matter who it was directed at: that overwhelming overabundance of hatred, Geeta knew, made her a monster. And she was more than prepared to spend the rest of her life compensating for her corruption.

“Hey, can you get me a coffee?

It was three in the morning, and Geeta was busy scrubbing ketchup stains off the carpet, when Colin entered the living room, clad only in a bath towel. His body was lean, muscular, and glistening with sweat.

“A c-c-coffee?” said Geeta.

“Yeah, no milk, no sugar. Thanks.” He winked, and strode swiftly into the bathroom.

Colin could be as demanding as Jackie, but then again, Geeta supposed, she did owe him some courtesy. Sighing, she dropped her cleaning equipment and scurried into the kitchen. As the coffee machine whirred, she thought of Jackie, and how decadent she must have looked at that moment, lying in bed, her flabby form melting into the mattress like cold butter on hot toast… How lucky Colin was to be to witness it.

And just as he intruded into her mind’s eye, Colin returned, showered and stinking of sharp citrus.

“Thank you so much.” Swiftly, he snatched the coffee from Geeta’s hands and sipped. “Ugh.” He laid the cup down on a worktop. “You’d think Jackie could invest in a decent coffee machine.”

“I’m so s-s-sorry!” Geeta cried, flustered.

“Oh, I’ll buy one, now shush—”

“But I’m a t-t-terrible servant, it’s all my f-f-fault, I’m so, so s-sorry!”

“Please quiet down,” Colin whispered, forcefully, “Jackie’s still—”

“Colin?” A disembodied voice drawled sleepily from within the bedroom. “What’re you doing up?”

Jackie lumbered into the room, her long blonde hair messy and frayed. She wore a light blue nightgown that hung down to her knees; the fabric was sheer, and left her bloated belly and cavernous navel fully visible, but it seemed to Geeta unusually modest for an item of Jackie’s wardrobe. Clearly Tilda hadn’t designed _this_ one.

“I’ve got places to be, darling,” he said, embracing her in his smooth, strong arms, “you know that.”

“Where is it this time?” she asked, as he kissed her on the forehead.

“Seoul, it’s one of our fastest-growing markets…”

“Is it growin’ as fast as me, sugar?”

Colin stepped back.

“I wish it was.” He smiled, slyly. “That’d make me a very rich man.”

“You’re plenty rich enough for me.”

“As are you!” Playfully, he slapped her blubbery bottom, and Geeta watched it ripple from the impact. Jackie giggled.

“Stop it, it tickles!”

“You know,” Colin began, pacing around his lardy lover like a panther, “in ancient times, big bottoms were seen as a sign of fertility.”

Jackie grinned.

“Keep goin’…”

“In the centuries since society has forgotten how women should be. This horrible idea has emerged that women should starve themselves, look like skeletons, but you know the truth. You know that beauty lies only in the booty.” He squeezed her chunky cheeks in his hands, and Geeta watched Jackie’s fat ooze gently through his fingers.

“Don’t go,” Jackie moaned, quietly, “you make me feel so… desirable.”

“I suppose I could stay for a few more minutes…”

He winked again, and at that signal Jackie leapt onto the couch, creating a large creaking sound. Though she had yet to be dismissed, Geeta realised it was time for her to leave. Those sauce stains would have to wait until morning. Tentatively, she picked up her cleaning things and waddled into her bedroom, where she would spend the rest of the night crying and trying desperately to hear Toro Y Moi over the cacophony of groans and grunts coming from the living room.

**The Athlete**

Lana had come to expect the bizarre where Jackie was concerned, but this latest request confused her all the same.

“You say you want a bigger butt?”

“You got it, sugar!” Jackie winked, playfully.

“I mean, you’ve been doing a pretty good job of growing your ass on your own…”

“You don’t understand.” Jackie shook her head, her double chin wobbling with the motion. “I don’t want a fatter ass.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I just want a bigger one. I want to be thicker, curvier, tighter.” She clenched her hands together, causing Lana to flinch. “I want to work out more. And I want you to help me.”

“That’s… unexpected.”

Lana tried her best to ponder Jackie’s problem, but irritation kept awkwardly intruding into her mind. Jackie was so sweet, by far the kindest boss Lana had ever had, but if she was aware of the transphobic treatment Lana received at the party, she hadn’t mentioned it. And, while Lana couldn’t remember her drunken outburst that night, by all accounts she’d cried so loudly that it was unlikely anyone was left unaware of it by the end of the evening. As hard as it was to be angry with the chubby, cherubic face in front of her, Lana couldn’t help but resent how unconcerned Jackie seemed about her. It wasn’t malice, Lana knew, only egotism, and an exceptionally endearing egotism at that. All the same, she was upset, and as keen as she was to help her boss, her friend, she was finding it increasingly difficult to look her in the eye, let alone offer workout advice. Nevertheless, she felt obliged to do her best.

“There are exercises you can do to build up your booty,” she began, slowly, “but it’s a lot harder than influencers make it look…”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” said Jackie, “just tell me how.”

“Well, I follow a daily regime to work on my ass, I really enjoy it but there’s a lot of stuff you won’t be able to do at your size—”

“I want to try.”

“And as you know, I’m not a personal trainer—”

“You’d be promoted to my full-time fitness trainer. And I’ll up your pay. A lot.”

Lana sighed. As loath as she was to spend even more time with this exasperating egomaniac, Lana had spent enough years couch-surfing to know never to turn down a paycheck. A promotion was more than she could ask for, really.

But an apology would’ve been nice.

**The Scientist**

“I’m sorry, this is s-s-so awkward!” Geeta whimpered, clutching a hot chocolate. “I just didn’t want put any more s-stress on Lana and I didn’t know who else to t-t-turn to…”

“It’s fine,” Emma said, in the most calming voice she could muster. “I understand.” Admittedly, she hadn’t planned spending an afternoon in Starbucks with a near-stranger, but if she was going to be an unpaid agony aunt, she realised sadly, better it be with Geeta than with yet another Tindr match.

“No, I didn’t mean you were s-second best, god no, it’s just…”

“Geeta, it’s okay.” Emma placed a cold, slender hand on Geeta’s plump wrist. “I know we’re not that close,” she said, “I know I’m not as close to Jackie as you and Lana, but I do care. Really. I think she’s doing a wonderful thing.”

Geeta’s eyes widened.

“You think so?” she asked, before swallowing a large spoonful of chocolatey foam.

“I had my doubts to start with,” Emma replied, “but sure. She’s not crazy, she’s not sick, she knows what makes her happy and doesn’t care what people think. I respect that, I even envy it a little. Besides, she’s one of those people it’s impossible to dislike. You should hear how giddy she gets when I tell her about my diet plans…”

“I can imagine…”

Emma sipped her chai tea.

“Tell me,” she asked, “has she packed on much weight lately?”

“She’s slowed down. Eating healthier. Working out more.”

“Jackie is probably the only person for whom that behaviour is concerning!” Emma laughed, but stopped abruptly when she noticed Geeta’s silence. Her brow furrowed. “Wait, is that the problem?”

“Not exactly, the problem is I think…” Geeta stumbled over her words, as if “I think I… I think I l-l-love her.”

And so Geeta told Emma all about her feelings, how she’d started to feel at the sound of Jackie’s voice, how her crotch burned whenever she talked , how she just wanted to hug her and squeeze her and never let go, how Jackie had started seeing a guy named Colin—

“Hold up, did you say Colin Levant?”

Geeta nodded.

“And what was it you said he did?”

“Something to do with a body positivity campaign.”

“Eh, that’s half-true. Very like Colin to omit the rest.”

“You know him?”

Emma’s voice began to quicken.

“He was in my chem class at Durham,” she began, gritting her teeth. “Arrogant bastard, wouldn’t shut up about his failed Oxford interview. He’s a moron, yet _he_ got the career: whilst I was worsening my student debt at Cambridge the year after we graduated, his daddy got him a place at Megacorp and—” She paused, noting Geeta’s confusion. “It’s a huge chemical multinational,” she added.

“I kept tabs on him during my PHD to torture myself,” Emma continued. “He broke sales records for them with some diet pill he developed; it’s illegal in Europe now, but he’d already worked his way up the board by the time that happened.” She shook her head. “I think it’s still sold over here? Nasty stuff if you OD.”

“But he said he worked for a campaign about fat acceptance?”

“I mean, I don’t for certain,” Emma shrugged, “but I’d assume he’s with Sparrow now: you know, the hygiene brand? They’ve been spewing this body-positive bullshit in their ads for years now.”

“But you said he worked for—"

“Megacorp, yes. Modern money multitasks. Heinz own Jack Daniels. Pepsi make Doritos. Disney’s been in real estate for years. Megacorp’s no different: name an industry, they’ve got a stake in it. They preach fat acceptance whilst selling Slim-Shake. All bodies are beautiful, they say, as long as you’re using Sparrow Intensive Daily Cream to keep them smooth and spotless. You can be big, you can be curvy, as long as you do it their way.”

“B-b-but that’s…”

“Ethically dubious, to put it mildly. Though if Colin’s still the same guy I knew I doubt he cares. But then again, maybe I should cut him some slack. Maybe he’s grown up.”

Geeta doubted he had. But then again, she realised grimly, it was so much easier for her to think that.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Athlete**

“We’re not gettin’ anywhere!” Jackie stamped her foot in frustration. “All this squattin’s worth jack shit.” The sharpness of her voice might have been intimidating, but the comical wobbling of her thighs undermined her irritation somewhat. Besides, Lana had grown used to these outbursts since her promotion.

“This takes time,” she explained, as patiently as she could, “it always does.”

“But the wait!” Jackie whined, like a schoolgirl denied sweets. “The wait! Fuck, I hate waitin’.”

I hate waiting for an apology, Lana thought, though she didn’t say it. She couldn’t say it.

“I need to be thicker,” Jackie whined, “I need to be thicker now! Are there any other exercises I can do for my ass?”

“We could add weights.”

“How heavy?”

“The smallest weights I have are a pound each, but most people can lift those easily, so I’d suggest we start with the 2 pound weights—”

“I want those.” Panting, Jackie pointed a pudgy finger at Lana’s largest pair of dumbbells.

“No way.” As much as Lana fantasised about bitch-slapping her blubbery boss these days, she had no desire to see her tear her own arms off. “Those are 40lbs each,” Lana started to explain, “there’s no way you’re going to be able to—”

“I can do it.” Jackie steeled herself, and lumbered purposely towards the pile of dumbbells. She bent over, her enormous ass threatening to burst free from her leggings, and tried to lift both the 40lb weights.

“Tried” being the operative word.

She heaved, she hoed, she exerted all of her atrophied muscles to their fullest; her plentiful back fat rippled with the effort, yet still the dumbbells elevated only an inch or so off the ground. But Jackie refused to give up, even as her joints began to; if Lana hadn’t taken the weights from her hands then an injury would’ve been inevitable.

“Are you sure you want to try to squat with these?” she asked Jackie.

“Yeah,” Jackie gasped, somehow managing to sound determined despite her obvious exhaustion.

“Well,” said Lana, “I suppose you could start squatting, and then I could pass the weights to you once you’ve got a rhythm going.”

“Great, let’s do it.”

“But I’m worried you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Pain is nothin’, darlin’,” Jackie replied, bluntly, “nothin’ you can’t overcome with some backbone an’ a little bit o’ spirit—"

And at that, she started squatting again. Her face flushed crimson, her skin turned slimy and swampy in a deluge of sweat, yet still she squatted. Jackie was clearly ready to drop; Lana would never have handed her the dumbbells had she not caught stinging, bloodshot eyes staring her way.

Reluctantly, Lana passed Jackie the weights, and instantly, her body buckled. Snorting, she strained to rise back to her feet, spewing scads of greasy sweat, and somehow, in defiance of all Lana knew about the laws of physics and anatomy, she managed it. So, she began to squat again, and rise again, and squat again, and rise again…

Her stomach shook seismically with every movement. Mountainous breasts shook violently within her sports bra, ready to erupt free at any second. Her stretchmarks seemed to rupture like streaks of lava, ploughing through pristine skin, leaving deep, burning raw fissures in their wake. Her knees seemed to creak, her ankles seemed to crack, and the backbone she’d boasted of looked likely to snap any second. Lana could practically see the scalding acid throbbing through her boss’ veins, and imagined her body boiling and blistering as if plunged in a deep fryer, slowly disintegrating into tiny chunks of charred flesh… It was awful, almost graphic; it was, Lana thought, the first time Jackie’s body had ever repulsed her.

“I owe him this,” Jackie grunted under her breath, “I owe them this…”

But at last it was too much. Her face, so resolute to start with, quickly contorted into a silent screech, before her legs gave way, and she collapsed. She had no air left with which to scream.

“I can’t…” she gasped, lying useless on the floor, “I can’t…”

Whether Jackie’s eyes were wet with sweat, tears, or a cruel, salty cocktail of the two, Lana couldn’t tell. All she knew was that, in that particular moment, her righteous anger didn’t much seem to matter.

**The Mastermind**

Spilled red wine. Countless empty chocolate bar wrappers, scattered everywhere there was space. A sea of take-out boxes as far as the eye could see. Semen stains on the sofa cushions.

“Geeta, me an’ Colin are goin’ out, clear everything up will you?”

“Absolutely,” Geeta mumbled. She instantly regretted it. This would take her all night, she thought, she’d have no sleep, and then tomorrow she’d do it again, while she had fun with Colin, without her; it was cruel, it was unfair, it was…

A familiar thought wormed its way back into her mind. A possibility she’d been pondering for some time. Should she, she wondered? She couldn’t, she shouldn’t; it could ruin everything. But then again, she realised, perhaps it’d already been ruined. So she really had no choice: in a quiet, quivering voice, she made her stand.

“N-n-no.”

“Geeta?”

No going back now, Geeta thought.

“No,” she repeated, more resolutely.

“You can’t do that,” Colin cried, staggered yet still coolly collected.

“It’s okay, Colin,” Geeta shushed him, before turning to Geeta. “What’s the problem, sugar?”

“The p-p-problem…” Geeta stuttered for a few seconds, had this been a mistake? No, it didn’t bear thinking about, she needed to be heard. “The problem is,” she began again, “I’m n-n-not… I mean, I’m not your maid. I’m your PA.”

“Darlin’, I’m sorry about the mess, but—”

“The mess was never a problem until h-h-he came along!” Geeta gestured towards Colin, her flabby forearm trembling with her fear.

“I really don’t care how much of a slob Jackie is, or how much of a pigsty her place is” said Colin, unnervingly calmly. “I love her just the way she is.”

“Y-you just l-l-love her… her ass!”

Jackie shrieked in shock; the shrillness shook Geeta’s insides like loud static, but she remained undeterred.

“He doesn’t g-g-give a shit about real fat acceptance, not like you do! He’s just some sycophant behind the Swallow shampoo ads!”

“Darlin’,” Jackie sighed, “Colin’s the real deal—”

“Absolutely,” he interrupted her. “I was one of the chaps who came up with the _Every Body is Beautiful Campaign_ in the first place. It came one-hundred per-cent from the heart.”

“And yet you sold diet pills. And you still sell skin-cream!”

“Sure, that’s what I sell, but behind the scenes I am a BBW guy all the way. Those bulimic bitches in our Slim-Shake ads do nothing for me. Like the great Sir Mix-A-Lot,” he sniggered delicately, “I like big butts and I cannot lie.”

“But that’s totally hypocrit—”

“It’s not a crime to make money, is it?”

“No, but—”

“Because if it is, then we’re all guilty, aren’t we? We’re all equal, and we all deserve equal opportunities; I firmly believe that. That’s what _Every Body is Beautiful_ is about. Everybody has the equal opportunity to be beautiful.”

“M-m-misnomer!” accused Geeta, stuttering more awkwardly than ever before.

“Sorry,” Colin shrugged, confused, “I don’t speak Hindi.”

“What?”

“Look,” he turned to face his girlfriend, “can’t we just leave her and do this whole squabbling thing later? Our reservation at Dorsia is in fifteen minutes.”

“Colin!” she chided him. “She’s my best friend.”

Despite the current situation, Geeta couldn’t help but blush upon hearing those words from Jackie’s mouth.

“She’s staff,” said Colin, apparently perplexed.

“She’s allowed to speak, Colin—"

“I’m concerned, Jackie,” Geeta interrupted, “c-c-concerned about him. About y-you.”

“I’m fine Geeta, really.”

“She taking better care of herself,” said Colin.

“Exactly!” cried Geeta. “You’ve changed. You’ve buried yourself for him, and I don’t know if he’s worth it.”

“It’s not about Colin—”

“Then leave him!” All frustration had faded from Geeta’s voice now, overwhelmed by a melancholic desperation. Jackie could tell, and she was clearly moved; that much was visible on her face. And yes, not moved enough…

“I’m sorry Geeta, I can’t,” she said, finally.

“I d-d-don’t understand…”

“It’s because…” Jackie paused. “It’s because I like him, I guess. He’s ideal, he’s…

“I r-r-resign.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I resign. Effectively immediately.”

And with that, Geeta waddled out the house and vowed never to return, no matter how wet her eyes grew, or how much her ass shrank.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Athlete**

Being Jackie’s personal trainer was probably the easiest job Lana had ever had, considering how adamant Jackie was not to be trained. As determined as she was to make her booty bigger, she absolutely refused to take any fitness advice, even from the woman she employed expressly for the purpose; instead, she had plunged into a routine consisting solely of different varieties of squats, even forgoing the routine she’d done daily prior to her current ass-increasing-obsession. Lana was a essentially a glorified Adam Sandler, fetching her boss fluids and given no attention beyond that.

Today was no different, she thought smugly, as the Snorlax on her cell screen finally elected to stay in its ball. She leaned her back against the wall like the badass babe she knew herself to be was as Jackie kept on squatting, grunting like a gorilla as she heaved herself up and down, up and down, over and over, all for the most minimal of glute gains. Admittedly, Jackie had added a few inches to her ass lately, but seeing how low her belly was hanging lately, Lana imagined none of that was muscle. She sighed. Even when attempting to get fitter, Jackie couldn’t help but expand; she was growing more slowly, to be sure, but growing nonetheless. The moment her little self-improvement project begun, her metabolism’s brakes fried, and now there was nothing stopping her weight from climbing higher and higher: not even her unceasing squats. Nevertheless, she was far too strained for conversation, which left Lana the task of entertaining her guest: Colin.

Colin. Lana had heard all of Geeta’ horror stories about the man, which depicted him as a strange cross between Gordon Gecko and the vampire Lestat, but considering how Lana knew Geeta felt about Jackie, she suspected the dumpy PA’s perspective was more than a little subjective. Still, Lana had no desire to speak to Colin, if only for fear of falling into her usual habit of talking until her target’s ears fell off, overburdened by countless tonnes of meaningless chatter. As awkward as it may have been, Lana would’ve been satisfied if the silence between her and Colin never stopped, but alas, he broke eventually broke it, so forcefully as to give Lana a start.

“You lucky bastard,” he chuckled, a little smugly, “getting to see her sweat like this.”

“Oh, I don’t really think of her that way,” Lana replied hurriedly, “you know?”

“Don’t be modest,” said Colin, heartily slapping her on the back, “what red-blooded male wouldn’t enjoy this job?”

Not again, Lana thought, picturing herself falling feet-first into a meat grinder. It took her ten seconds to gather enough courage to correct him, but it might as well have been ten years.

“Female,” she muttered, finally.

“What?”

“I’m a female.” Lana bit her lip. “A woman, if you will.”

“Oh. Oh!” Lana could practically see his thought-patterns on his face, as he slowly shifted from confounding confusion to comprehension. “That’s completely cool,” he said, once he’d fully grasped the nature of the scenario. “I am very trans positive, just so you know.”

“It’s fine, really…”

“But really, you mustn’t think I’m some sort of crazy TERF—”

“You have to be a cis woman to be a TERF—”

“I am absolutely for your rights,” Colin continued, obliviously, “one hundred per cent. Equal opportunity and all that—”

“I’m sorry,” said Lana faintly, her voice dripping with shame. “This is making me uncomfortable…”

“You shouldn’t be, I don’t hate you, far from, I respect you! All those hate crimes, they’re disgusting, they’re actually on the rise, in the UK at least, which is pretty shocking if you ask me—”

“I’m aware…”

“And did you know WHO called it a mental illness until 2019? Disgusting.”

That was the last straw. The shout escaped, squeezed out her body like decomposing gases.

“Stop it, please!”

“Oh shit,” Colin groaned, “I’ve upset you, haven’t I? I’m sorry, I was just trying to make clear I’m not a transphobe.”

Lana desperately wanted to cry, wanted to scream, make it known in a voice like a thunderclap that she was not a glass trophy, not a testament to anyone’s tolerance. She needed to show him that she could speak, that she could tell him if she was hurt, if she was shattered, that she could tell him to shut up!

But she didn’t.

“It’s fine.”

Jackie rose to her feet, and reached for a thick, creamy milkshake.

“What’s goin’ on, sugar?” she said to Colin, before taking a large gulp.

“Oh, nothing,” Colin winked, “just admiring my gorgeous girl.”

“You’d better be!” A thin moustache of milkshake had settled on Jackie’s upper lip, though Colin somehow seemed not to notice. “I’ve added two inches to my ass this week, or I think I have, it’s kinda hard to measure on my own—

“Look, Jackie—" Lana hadn’t seen it happen, but Colin’s charming smile had vanished, replaced with a more pained expression.

“What’s up, darlin’?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you…” he began, steadily, “don’t you think you’re big enough already?

Jackie spat out her milkshake with a start.

“Big… enough?”

“I mean, I love your figure,” he stammered quickly, “it’s so womanly and sexy, but if you keep this up I’m worried it’ll impact your health.”

“But that’s why I work out,” Jackie replied, soft and sweetly. “I work out for you.”

“I know, and I love that you do that, but it won’t matter at all if you get too big—"

“Too big?” Such phrases seemed to be incomprehensible to Jackie.

“Okay, maybe it sounds cruel, but I’d hate for you to become one of those fat, lazy Vicky Pollard-types with their bellies out all the time. I mean,” he waved his hand dismissively, “there’s body positivity, and then there’s suicide…”

At once, his stout, squishy girlfriend became a million times steelier.

“Get out.”

“What?” Once again Colin looked stupefied. “Jackie, I’m only concerned because I love you—”

“No you don’t.” Thick, fat tears tumbled down Jackie’s bloated cheeks, and mixed with the milkshake to slather her face in a slushy mess. “Not the real me. Get out.”

“But Jackie—”

“Go!” she yelled, a single pudgy finger pointing menacingly towards the door. “Go!” she screamed again, louder still. “Go, and don’t come back!” She turned her back to him, and slumped, like collapsing dough. “Don’t come back ever,” she whimpered.

And at that, Jackie thundered into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. That left Lana to evict the interloper; it wasn’t pleasant, but after listening to a long tirade about how this was none of her business, how she had no right to tell him how to act, she was eventually able to force him out the front door, with only minimal use of her finely-toned muscles.

That left Lana alone in the house with Jackie, and facing a decision. Should she leave too? Jackie had certainly been horrible to her since the party, or at the very least dispassionate; Lana was still awaiting an apology. Did this woman really deserve her support?

But then again, did that matter? If Lana turned away from someone in need, then what would that make her? Besides, Jackie was a lovely person, so kind when she cared to be. As much as she didn’t want to let her trauma go, she knew, on this occasion at least, she had no choice. Tentatively, she tiptoed to Jackie’s bedroom.

“Jackie?” she cried, her ear to the door.

“Go away!” came the blubbering response.

“I’m only worried about you—”

“You’re fired!” Jackie’s voice was trembling, erratically. “Go away!”

But Lana couldn’t leave her, not in this state. Jackie had such a strong force of will; once she set her mind on something, she almost always accomplished it, whatever it was.

Lana _had_ stay, and so she stayed, and stayed, surviving solely on deliveries and Jackie’s existing hoard of snacks. Lana’s fit physique inflated with a thin coating of flab as a result, but it was a price that had to be paid. The alternative… the alternative didn’t bare thinking about.

“Won’t you have some?” asked Lana, scoffing curry beside her boss’ bed. Jackie had eventually allowed Lana to enter her bedroom, but she’d become no less difficult, or less distressed.

“No. I won’t eat,” she replied stubbornly. Her arms were crossed and her eyes were shut.

“Not even a naan?”

“No,” she repeated, “I won’t eat.”

“Suit yourself,” Lana smirked, and swallowed another forkful. Behind her bravado, however, she was still worried. It’d been days now, and Jackie had yet to leave her room, except to visit the ensuite. Even more worryingly, she had yet to eat. Lana could wave cookies and cupcakes in front of her nose, but Jackie would not eat. Her stomach slowly shrank, rumbling like a tight mineshaft on the verge of collapse; her cherubic cheeks grew thinner and paler, but still, Jackie would not eat. It was concerning enough after the first day, let alone after the third.

Since Jackie made her a full-time personal trainer, Lana had researched multiple methods of encourage, both carrot and stick, but none of them worked. Jackie would not eat. So, Lana was forced to turn to her last resort. If it didn’t work, then nothing would. If only she could make it happen…


	10. Chapter 10

**The Mastermind**

“Geeta?” Jackie whimpered, quietly.

“Oh m-m-my…”

The situation was worse than Geeta had expected. It’d only been four days according to Lana, but Jackie’s stomach was used to being constantly stuffed and bloated, so the sudden shift to starvation had had a dramatic effect on it. Her mountainous belly seemed sunken, her once-plump breasts looked looser and saggier, and her skin was several shades paler. Jackie was still extraordinarily fat by anyone else’s standards, but by Jackie’s, she was downright skeletal.

“Geeta, what are you doin’ here?”

Geeta shook herself, and, her prodigious rolls still wobbling, straightened her back. Hers was an intimidating mission, very dangerous, requiring far more resolve than the meagre amount Geeta knew herself to possess. Nevertheless, it had to be accepted: failure was not an option.

“Quiet!” she snapped, sharply. “No b-b-buts! You’re going to eat!”

“But I—”

“I said no b-buts!” Geeta could feel what little steadfastness she had slipping away, but she was determined not to let that show. “You’re g-g-going to eat,” she continued, “and if you refuse,” she cracked her knuckles, “I’ll m-m-make you eat.”

“I won’t!” Jackie shook her head violently, her flabby chin flapping resiliently like a flag in gale-force winds.

“It’s your favourite,” Geeta sung, in the most tantalising tone she could manage, “Domino’s Texas b-b-barbeque, extra cheese, extra chicken, with ranch dip…” She waved a slice in front of her former-boss, wafting its succulent cheesy smell towards her nose, but she kept jerking her face away whenever it moved near.

“Not hungry!” she wined, her eyes stubbornly clenched shut.

“I know it’s your favourite, I m-m-must’ve ordered it for you a m-million times!”

“I won’t eat, Geeta. I refuse.” Jackie’s voice changed; Geeta had never heard it so flat, and the transformation scared her.

“J-J-Jackie,” she stammered, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re actually w-wasting away.”

“So be it.”

“I can’t have that.”

“It’s not your concern no more.”

“You’ll always be my concern, Jackie.” Geeta smiled, her lips trembling. “Who else is g-gonna l-l-look after you? Now eat.”

“No.” Jackie remained resolute.

“Last warning…”

“Still no.”

“So be it.”

With as much speed as her dumpy, doughy body could muster, Geeta leapt onto the bed with a loud thud, and enveloped her blubbery boss with her own blanket of pudge. Geeta had lost 15lbs since resigning, but she was still heavy, too heavy, far too heavy for Jackie’s under-nourished, atrophied muscles to maintain. The most she could do was struggle and squirm pathetically, as Geeta grabbed her nose tightly and pushed a slice of pizza past her lips. Jackie grunted in protest, her eyes bulged wide, she squealed, and, finally, she swallowed. Her eyes shut serenely. Her cheeks flushed red. At last, she moaned:

“More…”

Geeta was all to eager to oblige her. After all, it was her responsibility, her job, which was why, Geeta thought as she fed Jackie her fifth slice, she was enjoying this so much. Geeta she loved her job; it was satisfying, indescribably satisfying, and this task was the ultimate expression of it. That was why this felt so good, so right, so…

“It hurts…”

The gut-wrenching groan instantly snapped Geeta out of her daydreaming; she was fully alert, fully attentive, and ready to provide whatever her lovely employer asked.

“It will, you poor thing,” she explained, “you’ve been starving yourself for so long that it was inevitable. But you can work through it. You’re… You’re the s-s-strongest person I know.”

“Really?”

“Of course! Nothing’s going to stop your greed, is it?”

“Nothin’ _can_ stop it, darlin’.”

And at that, Geeta began slowly massaging her boss’ bloated belly. She didn’t need to be ordered: Geeta knew instinctively that Jackie would want it, that Jackie needed it, so Geeta had to provide, had to please her, only her… Geeta stroked the squishy, sloshy sphere, gently, tenderly, as she fed Jackie her sixth slice, and her seventh, and, as if acting on some forgotten, primal muscle memory, Geeta found her mouth started to move of its own accord…

“You’re so greedy,” she whispered, softly, “so gluttonous…”

“So fat…” scoffed Jackie in reply, her ample cheeks bulging.

“So fat,” Geeta kept on, powerless to stop herself, “so very, very fat, impossibly fat and constantly growing…”

“Yes…”

“You’re the biggest fatass there ever was, the perfect piggy, the ultimate gainer…”

“Fuck…!” Jackie swallowed hard, as her fleshy body spasmed in pleasure, wobbling all over.

And, at last, Geeta was lost for words. As was Jackie, at least for a while, until all of a sudden, she laughed.

“You know how much I love myself, sugar!” Jackie giggled, shamelessly.

And at that Geeta laughed too.

“I had an inkling, yes.”

“This was the best, just the best, you’re the best, I mean…” Jackie spluttered; Geeta had never seen her so embarrassed. “What I’m tryin’ to say is… Thank you.”

Those two words, those two wonderful words, sung in that heavenly drawl… Geeta hadn’t realised how long she’d been waiting to hear that sound until the moment it met her ears.

“Does this m-m-mean I’m r-rehired?” was the must she could stutter in response.

“Fuck yes!”

Geeta wanted to jump, wanted to cheer, make her whole body jiggle with joy like Jackie could, but, she reminded herself, she couldn’t. Not yet.

“But…” she began, tentatively, “if I’m coming b-back, things have to ch-ch-change around here.”

Jackie grinned, and raised her thick flabby arms to the ceiling.

“Name your price, darlin’!”

“Well…” The words took time to form in Geeta’s throat, but the second they were ready they all spilled forth at once. “N-n-no more of this weight loss garbage, none of this bigger booty bullshit, we go back to fattening you up, measurements every morning like before, back to speed eating with Lana instead of squatting, back to being you…” She breathed, finally, and noted with satisfaction how little she had stuttered during that deluge of words. “Back to being you. It’s my job to look after you, and that means making sure you’re being you. And you, Jackie Plainview, were clearly meant to be… m-m-massive.”

A single tear slid down Jackie’s cheek, small and slim. She beamed.

“Amen to that, sugar.”


	11. Chapter 11

**The Artist**

Los Angeles, Tilda thought, was a blemish on the land of bigness: it was big, sure, but only superficially. It was a city of sabotaged hashtags and false prophets, where breaking the internet made you body-positive, where rappers spoke of “beauty at any size” whilst extolling the virtues of ten-day detox diets. Tilda had visited the city four times already, and while the most recent of those trips had seemed promising at first, Tilda had since seen all the potential it promised squandered, sacrificed in pursuit of celebrity and the attention of an undeserving male gaze. Tilda was loathe to return there, but the promise of a new benefactor was enough to convince her to end her Swiss spa retreat four weeks early.

She was more little annoyed, therefore, to discover upon arriving in LA that this “new benefactor” was the same woman responsible for her renewed disillusionment with Tinseltown.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Tilda pouted, her plump posterior perched precariously on the hotel bed. Jackie, ever ignorant, didn’t appear to hear her.

“Tilda—”

“Save it. You are a sell-out. The Taylor Swift of the supersized. Only you actually _have_ destroyed your reputation.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, sugar.” Jackie’s ignorance was infuriating.

“The squatting, the dieting, the fanaticism with thiccness, it’s disgusting.” Tilda slapped her monstrous ass for emphasis, noting with particular satisfaction the way it jiggled. “You think I got a butt like this by exercising?”

“No, but—”

“And another thing: you think I got this massive for a man? You think I got fat for anyone but myself? No!” She slammed her hands onto her gelatinous thighs; the resultant sound resembled a wet fish being whacked against a concrete floor. “I became enormous because it was my destiny, and it satisfies me more than a sell-out like you could ever understand.”

“Darlin’, you’re almost as well-off as I am—”

“It’s not about the money. It’s about the ideology, and you have betrayed all you claimed to stand for. You are but a poseur of plumpness. That is all.”

Finally, the immense idiot stayed silent.

Or, she did, at least for a few seconds, before the inevitable conceited comeback came.

“I thought you had nothin’ to say to me?” Jackie smiled. That smile, that stupid, self-important smile; it irritated Tilda to no end.

“Not anymore,” she said, through gritted teeth. “It pains me to even look at you.”

“You sure that’s not because you’re jealous, sugar? Jealous of me and my fabulous figure?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You look starved. And pathetic.”

“I lost a little, yeah, but I’ve still got a belly twice the size of yours—”

That was the last straw.

“How dare you!” Tilda bellowed. “I am enormous, and you are a pathetic twig. Your belly is practically flat.”

“I don’t know ‘bout that…” Jackie lifted her tight sweater up and shook her titanic tummy, and Tilda realised it rivalled her own ass for wobbliness. That realisation was not a pleasant one.

“Stop it!” Tilda snapped, “now!”

But Jackie went on.

“An’ if you think this is big now, just wait a few months, you’ll look like a beanpole next to me—”

Tilda sighed. Though she’d never admit it, she knew she’d lost.

“What will it take to get you to leave?”

“I’m glad you asked, darlin’.” Jackie beamed, with insufferable glee; it was as if she knew she could one day be hotter than Tilda. “I want another dress,” she explained. “Another… fat dress. What was it you called it? Slob chic?” Tilda nodded. “I want another one. But tighter. Sexier.”

“For who?” Tilda frowned, sceptically.

“For a girl, I guess.”

“Not again…”

“No, no, it’s not like before,” Jackie said hurriedly. “It’s not for flirtin’ with her. It’s for makin’ stuff up to her. I… I was a real jackass. And not just to her.”

Tilda didn’t need to be told that; the skinny girl’s arrogance was often unbearable. All the same, Tilda felt obliged to help her, if only to definitively prove herself to be the bigger woman. So she listened to Jackie’s story, heard how’d she’d come to realise her boyfriend was a corporate creep, how she’d ruined her relationships with her trainer and her PA, how she couldn’t stop thinking about her PA in particular and all that she’d done for her, in spite of her short-sightedness…

“This girl,” Tilda eventually asked, “do you love her?”

“I’m… awfully fond of her,” Jackie replied, sheepishly.

“And she feels the same about you.”

“I’m… I’m pretty certain.”

“Then she deserves better than a dress.” Tilda crossed her arms. “I won’t make one.”

“But Tilda—”

“A dress is not an apology,” she lectured, relishing the opportunity to treat the guileless glutton like the child she was. “Your appearance is not an apology. When I first met you, I admired you. I admired your dedication, your dedication to becoming fat in mind and body. Your body is fat, that much is true, but I was wrong about your mind. Your mind is not fat.”

“I really don’t follow…” Of course she didn’t. Tilda continued.

“I thought you were greedy, lazy, but you aren’t. You’re just selfish. And fat, fat is not selfish. Fat is excessive. It is sublime because it is excessive, and because it is excessive, it must be shared. It is our duty to share our beauty with the world, show them that excess is truly exquisite, let them share in our excess.”

“By fattening them?”

“By sharing our excess. By being kind, by being generous. You want a dress? Apologise to her.”

“But Tilda—”

“You are beautiful Jackie, on the inside and outside. You have such… potential, and it makes me so angry to see you spoil it with squatting and self-pitying… It must stop. You must change. Share yourself… only then can you truly be fat.”

At that, Tilda ended her lesson, and would not say more regardless of how much Jackie wheedled. She been given all the information she needed for her oncoming test. Tilda could only hope that information had truly been learnt.

**The Athlete**

Lana never imagined she’d be so glad to see Jackie return to her old training regimen. During the weeks of obsessive exercise, Lana was forced to give up her favourite gluttonous pastime, lacking the time to compete in contests and lacking the funds to do her own challenges without Jackie paying for food. Now she was finally free to stuff herself again, Lana realised she’d forgotten how soothing speed eating was, how joyfully hedonistic it was, so those initial forty hot dogs, as stomach-churning as they were, felt positively blissful.

After that initial stuffing, however, Jackie announced tentatively that she had something to say.

“Well?” Lana asked, after an awkward silence.

“Lana…” Jackie began, “I really gotta tell you that I’m… I’m…” Somehow the words couldn’t come. To Lana it looked as if Jackie’s tongue weighed a ton, so much did she splutter. Lana laughed at the sight at fast, until she realised how crimson her boss’ face had turned.

“Are you okay?” she panicked. “God, please say you’re okay, I know speed eating can be super dangerous and I hate to think that you’ve hurt yourself because of me, you’re out of practice after all, I should’ve made you start slow, oh fuck—”

“I’m okay.” Jackie replied, quietly. “Not hurt.”

“Thank fuck.” Lana’s anxious sweating ceased.

“Look darlin’,” Jackie continued, with some effort, “I just wanna say that I really appreciate all you did for me, especially considerin’ the way I treated you, the way I let others treat you.”

Was

“It was nothing, really.”

“I feels like a lot, lookin’ back. You’ve helped me so much, an’ I… I was a real jackass.”

Lana smirked, smugly.

“That’s for sure.”

“That’s fair,” Jackie nodded, “but I wanna be better now, I wanna let you know how much I appreciate you, how amazing a friend you are, I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is… well…”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Thank you, Jackie. It means a lot.” It did mean a lot, but despite how desperate Lana was for it, it somehow felt more satisfying than relieving.

“No, thank you,” Jackie replied, “I was a real jerk. But I wanna make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to, an’ I’m going to. I’m changing things around here, an’ I want you to be a part of it. So I guess what I’m askin’ you is, what do you wanna do?”

Once she was able to set aside her modesty, Lana realised she could think of more than a few things…

**The Mastermind**

Things were finally back to normal in the Plainview house, and Geeta couldn’t be happier. Weigh-ins and measurements in the morning, like before. Speed eating with Lana, like before. Constant eating, like before, although Jackie had disappeared for an hour in the morning, to “visit an old friend”, she said. After so long without any Jackie however, Geeta could cope with It felt so good to have the real Jackie back.

The Jackie she loved.

It was already a good day, therefore. The best day of her life, even. She couldn’t possibly imagine it getting better.

And yet, in the evening, with the lights dimmed low and a bottle of Nebbiolo open, Jackie asked Geeta to join her for “a little girl talk”.

“So, Geeta,” she began, “there’s something… something I wanna tell you.”

Geeta nodded, shyly.

“It’s about… it’s about me. And you,” she added hurriedly, “fuck, it’s not all about me, please don’t think that darlin’, it’s just… it’s just…” She sighed.

“That pizza…” she continued. “That was the best pizza of my life. The best moment of my life. An’ tastin’ that pizza, eatin’ it with you… it made me realise all you’ve done for me.”

Geeta didn’t know what to say; having Jackie call her a friend was already too much, but this? Blushing scarlet, she stuttered in reply.

“But you w-w-were paying me—”

“But if it was a job, I can’t imagine how much overtime pay I owe you. You went above and beyond what I was payin’ you for. You put up with so much bullshit an’ still you treated me like a queen, you made my life… perfect. Almost perfect. An’ I want things to be how they were before, but really perfect this time, an’ for that I need… I need…” Jackie paused, and gently rubbed her tummy; Geeta had never seen her so vulnerable. “I need you.”

“I told you, I’m h-h-happy to start work again.”

“No, I need, I need… more. Than that. From you.”

No. No way. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be—

“What I’m sayin’, Geeta, is, well, I like you. A lot. In… in that way. An’ I’m hopin’—”

Geeta didn’t need her to finish the sentence. She’d be waiting for this moment ever since Jackie first hired her, though she’d never once truly believed it’d ever come to pass. Now that it was here, Geeta knew exactly what she had to do. She didn’t need Jackie to finish the sentence, she didn’t need to reply. All she had to do was rush towards her ample angel and lock lips with her. Her mouth was wet and sticky, but unexpectedly sweet, like honey, as if it had absorbed all the sugar she’d ever eaten. The red wine coating the insides of her cheeks, the chocolate trapped between her teeth, the ice cream melting down her gums, all coalescing into the most wonderful delicacy…

Nothing else could taste that good.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Athlete**

Above: the summit. Below: a 2000 or so feet drop. In the middle: Lana Dupree. With no harness. It was dangerous, in all likelihood deadly, but she had no doubts she’d succeed. She was unstoppable, invincible; the past year and a half had proved it. Besides, if Tom Cruise could do this stunt, so could she.

As she crawled closer to her climb’s completion, the sound of the crowd at the mountain’s top grew louder. So many people, all waiting for her! It was almost as electrifying as the winds battering past her body, as exhilarating as the race she ran with Death. She felt confident, she felt cocky, and it felt good.

In her cockiness, Lana’s thoughts turned away from her incompetent immortal adversary and towards how she’d come here. Every foothold below her was hurdle she’d cleared, every one above her was an obstacle she’d overcome equally effortlessly. In the last year alone, she’d conquered prejudiced parties, a bigoted boyfriend and a scatter-brained boss. She’d also, with Geeta, helped save a life.

She’d even, she noted with satisfaction as she leapt across a large crevice, started her own business. Admittedly _Race the Reaper Ltd_ was nowhere near as profitable as Tilda’s fashion label, which was Jackie’s main source of income since she used all her remaining inheritance from her father to found her fat acceptance charity, but Lana still felt-good to know she was virtually self-reliant for the first time in her life. Though the majority of her customers were sheltered socialites who figured themselves thrill-seekers, her time in Jackie’s employ had taught all she needed to know to annoy them as much as possible; it could be great fun, performing death-defying leaps as they struggled to get 10 feet off the ground. In any case, real adrenaline junkies weren’t in short supply; though the first few months had been shaky, _Race the Reaper_ had fast become the most respected extreme sports business in California, for climbing, base jumping, skydiving and dirt biking. Unfortunately, when at work Lana had to adhere to the expected safety regulations, but she had enough free time left after working out and, yes, speed eating, that she was able embark on truly dangerous ventures like this free climb. Like this—

Shit. Almost fell.

But didn’t. She couldn’t. She wasn’t going to.

And now she was at the top.

“T-t-took you long enough,” Geeta smiled.

“At least I didn’t,” Lana panted, “take a car like a pussy.”

“Don’t be stupid, can you imagine me doing any climbing?” Geeta grabbed her gigantic double belly through her dress and shook it, laughing.

“I guess you’re right!” Lana took off her sunglasses and mopped her brow. “Where are the showers? I have a wedding to get ready for.”

“We’ve set up some temporary bathrooms by the buffet,” said Geeta, “you’ll find your suit hanging behind the door.”

“Awesome.” Lana tossed her glasses to the ground, shattering them, and strolled confidently towards the toilets.

“Cue Limp Bizkit.”

**The Father**

It was bad enough Paul’s daughter had become a pig. It was bad enough she’d used _his_ money, _his_ name to found some ridiculous charity for the chubby. But being lesbian, or pansexual, or whatever it was she called it? That was too much. Yet, Jackie insisted he be there, and with so much media attention on the wedding of his somehow-celebrity daughter, he had no choice but attend, lest snowflake liberals harass him or his company on Twitter.

Considering that, Paul found his curt treatment rather shocking. Denied his rightful seat at the front of the ceremony, Paul was instead forced to sit at the very back, on an incredibly-uncomfortable plastic chair that Paul suspected had been specifically selected for him as a result of its drastically uneven legs. The ungrateful cunt wasn’t even allowing him to walk her down the aisle; it was “outdated”, apparently. Instead, she’d make the walk on her own, right into the flabby arms of her bloated bride.

Fuck, that woman was fat. Paul had never seen a woman so large, not even his daughter. Countless rolls of thick, juicy fat cascaded down her down her body, culminating in a colossal, corpulent booty. Each ample cheek was alone wider than Paul’s entire waist, and he was himself far from slim. There was no muscle in those cheeks, or even any plastic; through the tight, white wedding dress, Paul saw scads and scads of soft, supple cellulite, all rippling and wobbling with every waddling step the woman took. This was no woman, oh no: this was a giant mound of cookie dough, squeezed into a dress and heaped into the ground. She was gigantic. She was disgusting.

But she seemed happy.

**The Mastermind**

So. It had all come to this. All the organising, all the seating planning, all the calls with catering, all for this moment. Admittedly, none of it’d been necessary: Jackie was adamant at first that Geeta not organise the whole ceremony herself, but Geeta was adamant that she wanted to. It was her job, her rightful role, no, more than that: it was what made her happiest. The most stunning setting, the most divine decorations, the biggest buffet: Geeta had prepared it all, and all of it was perfect.

It needed to be. Not to show the rich and famous how glorious and glamourous the girls’ greedy lifestyles could be; sticking it to those shitheads was only an afterthought these days. No, this was a celebration of Jackie and Geeta, a celebration of all they’d accomplished together. Jackie had learned humility, learned charity: the Plainview Positivity Foundation had already become the world’s leading force for fat acceptance, with several celebrities on board and multiple successful campaigns. Geeta had learned confidence, learned assertiveness, learned to love: to love herself, and to love another. Both of them had learned to love, in fact, and they’d learnt it together.

Of course, the pair hadn’t just grown emotionally. Since she and Jackie officially became an item, Geeta had become bigger than she’d ever been before, bigger than she could ever imagine herself being. Just a year and a half ago, Geeta had hated her body, hated her fat; most of all, she hated her appetite. Nowadays, she embraced it; she knew now it was special, or at least special enough to make Jackie jealous. Geeta could snack all day long, and she usually did, munching her way through countless candy bars and still finding room for three meals a day. Before she met Jackie, Geeta’s record weight was 213lbs, and she’d always assumed that was enormous. It certainly felt that way at the time, felt hideous, abhorrent, but now, on her wedding day, Geeta was 131lbs heavier than that. Of course, she still wasn’t happy. She wanted to be bigger. After all, she looked tiny next to Jackie.

And speaking of Jackie…

The piano began to play, and at that, Geeta’s blubbery bride began waddling down the aisle. She walked alone, which was for the best, for the seismic swaying of her hefty hips would likely have set anyone flying to the floor had they walked beside her. She exuded power, exuded weight: even the mountain itself, so strong and unyielding, seemed to shake with every thundering footstep. Those legs were landforms in their own rights, each one encased in an enormous layer of fat that quaked continuously with every movement. Each one alone was wider than Geeta’s already-ample waist, but Jackie’s bottom was wider still, exceeding even that of the pillowy pear-shaped Tilda. Those chunky cheeks were so large now that they drooped a little over the back of Jackie’s legs, so that she had to lift them a little with every step she took; the result was that they bounced up and down as she walked, the dress by design doing nothing to conceal their corpulence. Her breasts were just as bouncy, bloated with so much fat they resembled balloons more than melons. So saggy, yet so sturdy; so flabby, yet so full: a cuddly mess of colossal contradictions. Most massive of all, however, was Jackie’s belly. Still a soft, spherical single-belly despite its substantial size, it hung so low now as to drop below Jackie’s crotch, in an immense fleshy fold that rose and fell with every motion of her luscious legs, sending rippling waves all over her sloshy lower-belly. Tilda had designed the dress to show off all of Jackie’s squishiness, but she’d taken most care to emphasise that glorious, gelatinous gut; covered only by the sheerest of white fabrics, every lump of lard on that titanic tummy was as plain as day. Not even her navel was hidden: a large, dark circle in the centre of a swollen stomach, a tight tunnel into Jackie’s tubby torso, so deep as to appear endless. Jackie had never looked fatter, Geeta thought, never looked better than she did in her wedding dress. She was a monument to massiveness, every inch of her immense, every inch of her exquisite. All 550lbs of her.

Eventually, Jackie reached the alter, her chins trembling as she panted. At that, Lana began the ceremony.

“Right,” she started, “I suppose I’m supposed to invoke God or whatever at this point, but quite frankly all that religious bullshit did fuck all for me.”

“It’s f-f-fine,” Geeta mumbled, “my family’s Hindu anyway.” She hoped her mother hadn’t heard that from the front of the aisle.

“So, no God?”

“Absolutely not, darlin’,” said Jackie.”

“The only w-worshipping I do these days,” blushed Geeta “is for J-J-Jackie anyway.”

“Aww, Geeta!”

“I guess she’s our goddess tonight, then,” said Lana, dryly.

“No, because Geeta’s my goddess.” The couple clasped their chubby hands together. “We’re all goddesses here, sugar.”

“And I guess we’re all goofy goobers too?”

“Certainly g-g-goofy,” Geeta laughed.

“I prefer goddesses,” replied Jackie, sternly.

“Fine,” said Lana, “we’ll go with goddess then. Or at least, you two can. Feel free to worship each other in peace.” She sighed. “Just don’t bring me into your happy fatty cult.

“That’s the idea…”

“Right, I’m fucking sick of this lovey-dovey crap, I’m cutting to the chase. You, simp.” She turned to Geeta. “Do you take this fat slut to be your loving wife?”

This couldn’t be happening. This was too good to be happening. Geeta felt as if she was watching herself in her dreams, even as she whispered her reply.

“I d-do.”

“Do you swear to take care of her,” Lana continued, “and do everything in your power to fatten her up?”

“I d-d-do.” Geeta breathed a sigh of relief.

“And you, lardbutt.” Lana turned to Jackie. “Do you take this loser to be your loving wife?”

“I do!” she smiled.

“Do you swear to spend the rest of your life lazing around and letting her do anything remotely difficult?”

“I sure do!” Jackie giggled.

“Well,” said Lana, “since you love her, and you love, um, her, I now pronounce you frog and pig.”

Jackie’s brow furrowed.

“I see the pig darlin’,” she said, puzzled, “but what the hell’s any of this got to do with frogs?”

Geeta just smiled.

“Forget it, f-f-fatass.”

Before Jackie could protest, Geeta grabbed her meaty arms and pulled her mouth to her own. Their lips locked, their bellies squished together; Geeta watched all thoughts of frogs slip from Jackie’s mind as slowly shut her eyes and embraced the moment. Once she was certain Jackie had lost herself, Geeta shut her eyes too and felt the world around her melt away: all that remained was her wife and the bliss the pair shared. Geeta wished that moment, that perfect moment, could’ve lasted forever, the grumbling in their tummies reminded them it had to end.

After all, they had a buffet to demolish.

**THE END**


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